


You know you make me wanna shout

by Eucalyyptus



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Blood, But he's gonna be here soon, Don't worry, George disappeared, Hate, I don't know what I am doing with my life, John and Paul are working with the police, Love, M/M, Murder, OOC, Ringo is a serial killer, Romance, Soulmates, Swearing, Violence, fathers, prepare your asses, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eucalyyptus/pseuds/Eucalyyptus
Summary: "Most of the times, they talk to me as if we're friends, and at one point, I just can't take it anymore. Their excuses, the way they're leaving their families... You kno', it's just too much. I imagine the poor kids, the crying wives, poor, poor things... And then, they're just talking to me about it as if it was a good thing, and I just can't take it. I need to make them shut up about it, I need to make them understand how painful it is to be left behind. So I do. I accept the fact that I'm losing it, and I just make them finally shut the fuck up, you know. And it's so bloody good. Just to hear them beg.."->In which Ringo is a serial killer and the police can't manage to make him confess everything clearly. So, they asked Paul and John to talk to him and to finally find a way to make him talk. When he does, they're decided to learn more about this "George".





	1. Let the children lose it - introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Thank you to be here (again?).  
> So, this is my very first fanfic about them.  
> It's really OOC. Of course, since Ringo isn't really a serial killer irl.  
> So it's an AU too.  
> This chapter is actually more like an intro, just to force me to write the chapters quickly.  
> Mh, I hope you'll like it!

"The Fathers' killer?" The young woman asked, frowning, looking up at her mother.

"Well, eight- no, _nine_ men all died in the city during the two past years. The only thing they all had in common was that they were all fathers on the edge of leaving their families."

"That's a bit weird. How were they killed, Mum? _C'mon_ , I'm old enough. I saw movies you wouldn't even think exist."

"I guess, yeah. All of them were badly beaten and their tongues were... cut."

"The killer must be really angry, mh." 

"I don't know, honey. I know that it was just getting uglier and uglier with time. Near the end, he even shot his victims in the legs."

"I'd do that too. No, I mean. If I was a killer... Just to keep them from running away. Speaking of that, survivors-"

"No one survived."

"He's good at what he's doing, then, I guess."

"Darling, show some respect."

"I'm not one to be impressed that easily, Mum. Anyways. Anything else about the victims?"

"Well, he suddenly stopped around the same time George Harrison disappeared."

"George Harrison? George... George... Ah! Isn't he-"

"Yeah, the kid who came to play his guitar near our house with his friends."

"Oh yeah. He was cute. I remember him. Too bad I didn't try to talk to him! So, he disappeared?"

"Yes. I don't really know if the murders and his disappearance are related... But I just... feel like it is."

"I don't know. The murderer is more about fathers, no?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. And, er, he disappeared and the murders stopped."

"So everything's fine, now, right?"

"Mh, mh, and even better, someone went to the police saying that they did it. All of it. The murders."

"Really? Did they arrest him?"

"Yeah, they did. So, I guess it was him."

"Did he talk?"

"No, I don't think they made him confess clearly. He must have just said that he was the murderer. And showed some proof of it... I don't know much about that. I just know that he's locked up now."

"Did he _at least_ talk about George, maybe?"

"No, no, he didn't."

"Then, George's disappearance is probably another story. I hope he'll be back soon and safe. I might even go talk to him!"

"I hope too, honey. Now, let's go back home, shall we?"


	2. It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First session with Richard.  
> Alex's case is solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!  
> The real beginning!  
> I hope you'll like it?  
> As always, sorry for the mistakes and everything, since I'm not really bilingual it's a bit hard sometimes uh.

They talked through letters for _two entire years._

And they managed to get a paper **\- just a fucking bloody paper like John said -**. And with this small piece of sheet, they would meet him.

Paul was excited. And nervous. They finally, finally, _finally_ were allowed to meet him. To meet Starkey himself.

Well, he knew there would be people around, of course. It was only normal. After all, he was dangerous. Very dangerous.

"Paul, you ready?"

"Just a minute!" He shouted back at John and quickly did the knot of his tie.

The door opened and he appeared in front of John. The lad was wearing a black turtleneck with his brown leather jacket. He looked fine and he looked like he knew it, with his usual smirk.

"Let's go now, shall we? The man's waiting for us." He said, and, with that, they left their flat.

Soon enough, someone was opening a big door for them. After walking through the prison, the room in which they ended seemed... simple. It wasn't a big one, without windows, but it looked okay. There was a table at the center. Three chairs. Because it was the first session, guards were around. Paul knew they wouldn't get much from Starkey this time. Or not at first. It was only normal. He probably didn't trust them, not yet.

They both went to sit down, patiently waiting and exchanging nervous looks. Paul bit his bottom lip. He felt awfully nervous. He knew the guy, yeah, but they were surprised before by others. Talking through letters and actually talking face to face with a killer was something else. And waiting wasn't helping at all. John finally gently patted his knee with a small smile. It was enough to force Paul's mind to calm down. If John was here, everything would be okay.

Finally, the other door opened. Two guards walked inside of the room, holding someone's wrists.

Starkey appeared behind the two muscular men.

He was smaller than they thought. His legs and his wrists were tied up but he looked like he was used to it. He went to sit down in front of them, and the guards tied him up to the table and the chair.

Paul stopped breathing when he saw how blue his big eyes were. Surprising, he thought. He was almost sure John thought the same thing. It was hard to see something else. The sky itself wasn't that blue. He looked constantly lost in his thoughts, and, awfully, awfully innocent and pure. Which he wasn't. John and Paul knew it way too well.

"So, hello." He said. His voice was deep and low, almost like a groan. He wasn't talking that much probably - he was supposed to stay quiet and alone, which he usually was, and he cleared his throat. "I'd have shook your hand, but mines are... sort of busy right no'." He added, poor attempt to break the ice between them. But it seemed to work because John blinked and answered him.

"Good evening, Starkey." He started, resting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.

"Oh, don't call me like tha'. Call me Richard. Or Ringo. I don't like Starkey that much." He said with a shrug but his eyes sparkled while he looked curiously at John. "You must be John, then. The sarcastic one."

John just nodded, not really knowing what to say. Paul squirmed in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek. Ringo's big eyes stopped on him and he did the same thing, letting it slide on his baby face.

"And you're Paul. You look quite young."

"That's me, yeah. So, mh, we should-"

"You're both a bit too young for me... but I wouldn't mind..." Ringo whispered, but let his words float in the air between them, full of possibilities. He licked his dry lips and John just raised an eyebrow. Paul leaned closer, cracking his knuckles. Time to work seriously.

"We're not fourty yet, Richard." He said, and something appeared in the man's eye. "A bit too young for you, yeah. You like 'em older."

"I can make an exception for you, love..." Richard answered, teasingly.

Paul threw a warning look at John when he felt how he was tensing up against his knee.

" _I can't help falling in love with you._ "

"Elvis' references, already?" John said with a small smirk.

"Of course, John. Too bad you guys didn't bring a radio. Would have been fun."

He hummed in satisfaction, imagining the thought. Oh, yeah. He had plenty of books in his room, but, sometimes, one guard would listen to the radio for an hour or so. It was nice, but not enough. He missed music.

"Maybe next time." Paul said and shrugged.

They talked for years through letters. The two men were always careful, not talking too much about themselves. It would be too dangerous. Instead, they talked a lot about music. Richard was a musician. He knew how to play a lot of things, especially drums - and weapons. They discovered that they all liked good old music like Elvis' and usually talked a lot about him.

"I think... I think John once said that you knew how to sing like Little Richard, am I wrong?" He asked, frowning, as if he was trying to remember correctly.

"Oh, yeah, I surely did. He knows how to be a better Little Richard than Little Richard is. The lad _invented_ it."

"Shut it, John. I was just playin' around. Nothing much about it." Paul said, shrugging. People always talked about how he knew how to imitate Little Richard, and it was always making him a bit uncomfortable. Yeah, he could sing, of course, since he was singing in John's band - nothing much, just small gigs... Giving everything into his singing when he was on stage with girls dancing around was something - in a small room with a serial killer was completely another thing.

"Show me, then. I miss good ol' Little Richard!"

Paul blushed and turned to look at John, hoping he would do something. But he was just smirking, and Richard had the same amused look. It looked odd on his face. He almost looked... normal. Innocent. And he wasn't.

"No way. We're not 'ere for that!"

"Just a little bit for me pretty eyes?"

"I don't even have a guitar or something!"

Richard smiled even more and he started to hit the table in rhythm. John could see how the guards were watching every one of his moves but Richard seemed so used to it - it was weird because John just couldn't forget about them. He couldn't help but feel their stares on them.

"You have a beat now. Sing, little bird, _sing_. Long Tall Sally."

"Lovely choice." Commented John with a raised eyebrow, stomping. His fingers were moving on his thighs, as if he wanted to play his guitar. But he looked like he didn't want Ringo to notice it. If he noticed, though, he stayed quiet about it.

Probably mostly because Paul started to sing, blushing, and his doe eyes stopped on the grey walls around them, the table, the floor... He ended up looking at his hands, his fingers softly hitting the table, following Ringo's pace. If he managed to ease Ringo's mind and the mood, maybe he'd forget about the guards and the rest... maybe he'd talk. Paul needed that. And he didn't feel like pissing Richard off for their very first meeting. So, he sang, not quite giving his all, though. Singing a little bit was fine, but humiliating himself wasn't part of the plan. Thank God the song wasn't that long! He avoided carefully the part where he was supposed to scream.

When he stopped singing - at the end of the song, of course -, John was applauding with a small smile. Richard was smiling too.

"Ah, I love hearing people sing." He said, dreamily closing his eyes, as if he was still enjoying it. "Yeah, singers are the best... Always loved listening to people. Don't you think it's wonderful?" He tilted his head on the side, looking directly at them. "How we can make music with our own bodies... How our voices are completely not the same!"

"It's nice, yeah. Do you like singers?" John asked, squinting his eyes - he wasn't wearing his glasses. He took them out of his pocket when Paul elbowed him and put them on. Now, he could see Richard's face - not only his blue eyes. He looked... as young as them, with his brown mop top of hair, his big puppy eyes. Everything was big - his nose, his eyes, his lips. He had the face of someone with whom you could cuddle for hours in a bed, just lazily talking about everything and anything. He was cute, for sure. But cute wasn't the word for someone who killed.

"Yeah. I love them. They're always making lovely sounds..."

Paul knew where this was going... but he didn't stop John from talking. He knew the lad could get some answers with his blunt way of doing things. Paul was always using academics methods. He learned it like that, so he used them like his teachers told him to. John, on the other hand, was doing whatever the hell he wanted to do. As always. His way of working was his way of living. He was always saying what he was thinking, not caring about who he had in front of him, and was using his scary voice and his cruel words. Their duo worked better than people thought. They always received answers, in the past.

They worked in a lot of prisons, always together, in hospitals, too. But now, they were working with the police - more or less. And Richard was more important than their previous patients. They had to be careful. They had to be smart and clever about their every words. John was softer than usual, observing Richard to know what he was supposed to say or do next. Paul was nervous and he was trying to remember his books from a few years earlier, hoping it would help, somehow.

John leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms on his chest. He had Ringo's attention and he knew it.

"Like this Alex guy?"

Ringo's first victim. Paul swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, like him." Richard answered, as if it was nothing. His indifferent tone made Paul shiver.

"Do you remember it? It was four years ago, after all."

"Quite a long time ago, right? You loose track of time when you're here."

"Yeah, four entire years. It was in november, can you remember it?"

There was a silence. Paul looked at Richard, at his composed face. He was strong. He knew how to hide his thoughts. Nobody could resist Paul's doe eyes when he was trying to see through them. Richard could. Paul already hated that. John leaned closer again, both of his forearms on the table, his fingers intertwined in a knot of long, callous sticks.

"It was cold, this day, wasn't it?"

Richard looked at John, still quiet. As if he was testing him. Wondering if he was really going for it, already. Then, he kept his small smile and nodded.

"Yeah, I guess. But it was such a long time ago. I can't quite remember it."

"And it's not Alex who can remember it anymore."

Silence fell upon them again. Paul pressed John's thigh under the table but John refused to let go of Richard's stare. The man was looking back at him, blue eyes filled with a warning look.

"Yeah. He's deadly _dead_ , isn't it?"

"Can you remember how?"

The tension between the two men was awfully thick. Paul coughed. They didn't move again. So, Paul decided to go with it. He studied Richard's face closely while talking.

"Alex was wearing his leather jacket with some blue trousers if I'm not wrong. He was probably high... and he had his day off, even if he still worked on a song all day long. It was just an unlucky accident when you crossed his path."

Richard's eyes darkened and he lowered his stare, looking at his fingers. He stayed quiet.

"His wife was shouting after him, from the door, and he was ready to go, to walk and to never come back. They both weren't happy anymore, and it was hard to play the act with kids around. So he decided to go, to calm down and to think about it all alone somewhere."

John got closer too. The pression in their four eyes was making Richard a little bit uncomfortable but he didn't show it. He was an expert at that.

"Just like your dad."

Richard looked directly at him, and his skin became quickly paler. He bit his bottom lip, blinked. Paul could see how furious he already was, shaking. It was the thing with serial killers ; being able to be all calm and, the next second, completely losing it.

" **Don't** fuckin' talk about him."

It was a warning. Paul felt threatened just by his tone. It was dangerous. He was dangerous. He was realizing it now more than ever. He threw a look at John. The man seemed equally scared - thank God, maybe he would stop, but Paul knew he was the only one who could read his face like that. He just looked calm and pensive on the outside.

"Then, talk to us about Alex. Tell the truth, just for _once_." John said.

Richard swallowed, blinked again. He just had to stay calm. But he couldn't let them talk more about his father. Or he would go mad. The bastards knew what they were talking about. This wasn't a good thing, oh, no.

"You lucky bastards. It's only because I know you both." He muttered and leaned back against his chair, taking a calm breath. "I was just walking down the street because I had to go buy something, probably tea or cigarettes. And- And I saw him and I heard his wife and she was screaming things like _"Ye git! Letting me all alone with three children!"_. She was loud and I hated that. And this Alex guy, he stopped when he saw me and quickly went near me."

He shook his head to push the lock of hair away from his eyes, since he couldn't do it with his hands. Paul and John were quiet, listening to him as if he was holding a truth they wouldn't find anywhere else.

"He asked if I could- if I could show him an _hotel_ or just give him a _ride_ to the nearest town. He pissed me off **so** much, but I said yes. I didn't know why, but I felt like saying yes would help. So I said it, and we went into my car since I wasn't parked that far."

He was paler and paler, and frowning, trying to remember the details but this day was just... not clear. He played it like a record through his mind so many times that he couldn't even really see it anymore.

"He was an _arsehole_. He talked about things that made me **so** angry. I don't remember them. Probably something about _leaving his wife and his children_ , and I probably said some nice words just so that he wouldn't worry." He swallowed, stopped for a minute, closed his eyes. "Next thing I knew, I was driving in a forest, and he asked me where we were, and I told him I had to take this road because it was a short cut. He didn't ask more."

John looked at Paul this time. They both knew that he was saying the truth. But the thing was, he was being recorded - they all knew it - and he was finally saying it out loud for real. They did better than everyone else. And they were here for just a few minutes.

"It was dark and I stopped at some point because he started talking about it again. I had no idea what I was doing. We both got out and I think I punched him. His nose was bleeding and I- I could only see how red his blood was and how it felt _right_."

Paul saw how the man shivered. His chest tightened but he wasn't digusted ; he found it very interesting to know what the man thought. He knew John was thinking the same. They both were always keen on knowing what people thought.

"I just kept doing it and he was screaming so I..." He stopped, frowned as if he couldn't remember.

"You cut his tongue. _Completely._ " It was John's raspy voice.

"Oh, yeah. He stopped talking. It felt like... As if I was watching everything from the outside. It wasn't... me, ye kno'." The eldest stayed quiet for a few seconds. "I freaked out when he stopped moving. At this moment, I think the other left."

"The other?" Paul asked, frowning.

"Yeah, the... other me. _The beast_." He quietly answered, not sure about telling them about it in details. "But he... deserved it. Leaving his family like that, that's not - that's not what he was supposed to do, and he kept on talking about _how great it was to finally be free_ and it was just... it was just **too much**. Something... broke in me mind and I just... wasn't able to think straight."

"Because of your father?" And it was Paul who talked again. He was using his soft, comforting, knowing tone. People were always failing to resist him when he was using this tone. Even John.

"Probably." Richard frowned. He looked like there was a war in his mind, about telling them or not. He groaned, slowly let go and decided to talk just a little bit about it. "Reminded me o' me dad."

"He... left your mother, right?"

Paul was calculating everything ; Richard might stop talking anytime, or he might get angry and yell at them some awful insults, or he might just stay calm but still refusing to talk more... possibilities were making their ways through his mind. This was the thing with killers ; especially with serial killers who did it a long time ago. They were unpredictable. It was Ringo's case.

"Mhh. Left us all alone. That was it ; the two of us, zombies in our too big house." He mumbled and looked suddenly just so tired, so worn out by life. "We moved out when it was just.. unbearable. Mom was dying of tiredness and I couldn't do a thing ; and she was running _everywhere_ just to get enough money to buy us food. She was up at six in the morning and would only be back at midnight and it was it again and again and again. She wasn't even there when I had to go to the hospital. She was dying too and _everything was his fault_."

His voice was shaking from anger and he took a second to close his eyes, slowly breathing, focusing on his chest's moves. He had to remain perfectly calm. Fuck his father. He could do it. He knew he could. He wasn't _weak. No._

"Sometimes, she even forgot me. I don't blame her. She was so exhausted... it was hard to even remember her own name. She had two or three jobs at the same time and it was still hard to just have enough food."

"Did you hear about your father, later?"

"I saw him three or four times... Once, he came at the hospital when I was ill. He asked what I'd like for my birthday. I told him and he wrote it. Then, he left. Last time I saw him. And I've never seen this fuckin' gift." He groaned and he looked almost digusted by him. "It was driving me mad. How he looked perfectly fine when Mom was collapsing on her bed every night, how I couldn't do anything because I was too young or too small or too sick. Just thinking of it now is enough to piss me off."

John slowly nodded. His face was dark, even darker than Ringo's. Paul knew why. He knew how this was reminding him of his own absent father. He caressed his thigh but the man wasn't even noticing it. He looked so far in his own thoughts ; in a place where even Paul couldn't go.

"So when I saw- when I saw this Alex guy and when I heard him, I... lost it. Every time he talked, I just saw my own father and I needed- I needed him to _shut the fuck up._ "

"Did killing him help you?" John talked, and his voice was low. Paul looked worried. He was. The thing with this job was that you had to be in a killer's mind all the time ; the most complicated thing was to stand on the edge. You couldn't fall and become the evil yourself. And John was dangerously looking at the other side.

"Honest? No, it didn't. I needed _more_ , I needed _something else_..." He mumbled but looked up at John, drowning in his brown eyes. At one point, John had to remind himself that he really needed to breathe. "You look like you kno' what I'm talking 'bout, John."

"What? John isn't a killer, Ri-"

"It's not what I'm talking about. You _know_ it, John, don't you? What I mean? What I _felt_?"

John stayed quiet for a while. He looked down at his hands, slightly shaking. Paul squeezed his thigh, still vainly. The man looked lost far, far away in his mind.

"I do."

"Then, _why are you on this side of the table_?" Richard asked, and his voice truly was hypnotizing, like a low, tempting whisper.

Was he saying that John had the thing to be a killer? Well, everyone probably could but... but it was different with John? Paul took a shaky breath. He knew that John had anger issues, sometimes. Yeah. But... The interview wasn't supposed to go like that, no, not at all.

"I chose not to see him everywhere, not to hate him everytime I saw happy kids. Me aunt helped me, me friends helped me... _Paul_. Paul helped me." He whispered back and looked slowly at Paul, as if he remembered that he was here.

 _"It's not easy facin' up when your whole world is black."_ Richard said, darkly.

"Mine was, too. I forced colors into it. People helped with that too, Richard."

"You can't fully understand, can you?"

"No, I don't think I can."

"Did you always... how did you... _resist_ it? The urge to let go, to punch someone until you can feel blood on your hands?"

John frowned. Richard said it with an hesitation, but he looked so calm, still wearing one of his masks, probably. He had to go through them. To break them. Then, they would have the entire truth, wouldn't they?

"I didn't. I fought a few times. But there was always someone to stop me. Mostly Paul."

"I can't let you... slip. Can I?" Paul finally talked, slowly shaking his head.

"No, you can't."

"Oh, how unfortunate it is to cross your path only now.." Richard mumbled, just probably to himself, eyes lost somewhere between the two men.

Paul decided that they talked already too much about John. It was dangerous to keep going this way. He cleared his throat, leaned closer. Still, the moment wasn't broken. He didn't think so. Richard still looked open. Curious.

"But you had someone, 'ight, Richard? You had to have _someone_. You would be **dead** if you didn't. You needed someone to... keep you _sane_ , Ringo."

Ringo - how an old nickname this was. He couldn't even wear his rings now. He missed them too. He looked up at Paul and sighed, his expression sad for just a second.

"Oh, yeah, yeah... I had... I had someone."

"Who? Tell us, Richard. It's only us.."

"George. It was his name. _George_."

They stayed quiet. Paul opened his mouth to talk again when there was a strange noise coming from outside. Then, the door opened and other guards came in.

"I'm sorry." One of them said and forced Richard to stand up. "It's time for him to go. Goodbye, sirs."

Paul and John, surprised, stood up and nodded. They looked a bit lost. Things were only getting interesting and they had to go. It sounded like a joke.

"Oh, okay. Mh.. Goodbye, Richard."

"Yeah. _Don't play outside for too long, little sheeps, it's gettin' dark._ " He said, a small smile on his lips. It was enough to make Paul shiver.

They walked through the prison again, quietly replaying the interview in their heads until they reached the car.

Paul drove, this time, in silence. He was vaguely aware of the radio in the background, playing "Paint It, Black" des Rolling Stones. It only reminded him of Richard when he quoted the song. He hummed in rhythm, and John did the same thing. He could feel how his boyfriend was tensed, lost in his thoughts, but he didn't do anything to break that. They needed time to think about it, to think about the Starkey case and the man's words.

They finally reached their flat and were back inside in a few minutes. Paul threw his shoes somewhere and fell on the couch with a small sigh. John went to sit on the sofa, humming in satisfaction. They could feel how their nervousness was disappearing, letting them simply relieved. Everything went pretty well. Things could get really ugly when it was about serial killers.

But Paul rolled on his side, one arm under his head, looking at John and frowning.

"You _shouldn't_ have let him get _that_ close, Johnny." He said, carefully looking at his reactions.

"But we got _answers_. And I think I can understand him more, now, can't you?" The older replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean- yeah, it was _useful_ but... I don't want him to have any kind of power on you." He mumbled, rubbing the skin between his arched eyebrows.

"Don't worry, Macca. I know what I'm doing ; he's not even close to know me."

He softy stood up, feline movements, and went to lie down next to him on the small couch. He pressed himself against Paul, sliding an arm around his waist, gently drawing circles on his back. Paul almost purred at the attention, closing his tired eyes, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks when he smiled. John always loved looking at him, at his face, at his body. They knew each other for so long ; but it was still like discovering him for the first time every time he landed his eyes on the younger boy. It was just a few months since they actually decided to stop just flirting together. They were a happy couple, though, and John liked it better that way.

He leaned closer and pecked his lips with a calm expression. Paul was surprised to feel himself relax against him.

"We're gonna get lots of answers. I _know_ it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand it's the end.  
> How was it? Awful? Nice?  
> Anyways, I'm almost done with chapter 2 so I'll probably post it next week. On tuesday maybe, I don't know yet uh.  
> I'll be gone for two weeks tho' so I'll just program the publication date of chapter 3 & 4\. I'll try to write both before. Not sure if I can do it, but, well, I can at least try?  
> By the way, you'll know a little bit more about George in chapter 2 but not that much. I think you'll have the whole story chapter 3 or 4, I don't know yet, eheh.  
> Oh, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and comments (blablablabla you already know the song)...  
> See you, have a nice day/night/etc... !


	3. There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medicines are too strong for Richard.  
> Not strong enough to keep him from talking about his own past.  
> The Joker's case is solved - more or less.  
> He still avoids George's case but John and Paul can talk about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 2!  
> I wrote it pretty fast I think??? Well it's just like 4k words which isn't actually a lot but yeah I'm a bit slower usually.  
> Anyways, I hope you'll like it.  
> Prepare yourself because it's just gonna get worse and worse.  
> Oh, and, Richard has a big big mouth but well Paulie'll help with that later eheheheheheh.  
> AND  
> a huge thanks to the best person out there who's always the first to read it and who's literally just so nice and everything (you'll recognize yourself me Johnny) !!

"Hello, Richard."

They were back in the prison. It was dark, as always, and Paul always shivered ; he knew how bad the prisons were. He wished that it would get better in the future. Murderers or not, some people here were innocents and nobody deserved such a treatment.

Richard sat down, frowning. He was paler than the previous time.

"Yeah, yeah. Hi." He absentmindedly answered.

Today wasn't a good day, then. But it was like that, sometimes. They just had to be even more careful than previously.

Paul sent a warning look at John, who just nodded. They automatically both analyzed the situation. They had to obtain some answers. About this George. They both knew that Ringo was close to a guy named George... But Richard never told much about it. They wanted to know who it was. _Another victim? Family? A lover?_ If it was a lover... It would be bad for Richard, yes, very bad. Being queer was already hard - it was legal now, but people still weren't accepting it.

Good thing was that he wasn't with other prisoners. Who knows what they could have done to him?

"Not in the mood, today?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Their shitty medicines." Richard groaned, biting his already damaged lip. "Can't think straight, it's killin' me."

"We'll be quick, then." Paul answered, looking concerned and worried. And he was. Well, just a little bit. But _acting_ was part of the job. "D'you remember last time?"

There was a silence where Richard closed his eyes for a few seconds. The guard was watching him without blinking. It was pissing John off. He hated voyeurs. Well, he wasn't a voyeur, he was just doing his job... but he **hated** it.

"Uh, yeah." The murderer finally nodded. "We talked."

"Yeah, that's why we're here, actually." John answered and rolled his eyes. Paul elbowed him.

"We talked, yes, Richard. We talked about music." Richard nodded at Paul's voice. "And about Alex."

"Yeah, I remember."

Once again, they all went silent. Richard clearly wasn't feeling well but his day was probably better with them than all alone. Paul found it sad how he threw his life away to kill some idiots. Maybe in another life, he would have been successful. A great musician, maybe. And they would have been friends - Richard seemed nice. Maybe in a band, all together. Yeah, it was a nice idea.

"Not much of a talker, are we?"

"I don't usually like talking." Richard groaned in answer. "I don't mind it, but I don't have a talking mouth."

"Well, what's the goal of your mouth if it isn't to talk?"

"That's a good question. Maybe you can ask God when I'll sent you there, _John-I'm-pissing-everyone-off_?

This time, Richard looked at the ceiling, clearly bored to still be here. John, on the other hand, looked awfully surprised. He knew killers - serial killers - were moody and lunatic, but, still, Richard seemed like a pretty normal lad. And gosh, if he wasn't a killer already pissed off, John would have said something sarcastic. But he couldn't, and he hated it.

"S-Speaking of that!" Paul quickly came in before John changed his mind, a nervous smile on his lips. "D'ya believe in God, Richard?"

"I don't kno'. Don't think so." His voice was just a low groan. "If he was real, he'd have at least _tried_ to help people, 'ight? He's not really helpin'... so, no."

"Well, we're the same, then." Paul shrugged and a soft smile came on the lips. "The only God I know is named Elvis. Or Little Richard. Or..."

"Yeah, _we got it_ , Paul." John stopped him with an amused smirk. He knew that Paul was unstoppable when he started talking about his love for music. They had a band, more or less, but it never satisfied Paul's hunger for music. He craved music. He was listening to music 24/7 when he wasn't playing. And, for God's sake, the boy knew how to play. He basically knew how to play every fucking instruments. He knew the piano, the guitar, the bass, the drums... He knew how to sing, how to write and compose. He was an _entire band_ himself. John was always impressed.

"Uh, sorry. Yeah, well, I _do_ prefer music."

"Everyone does. Jesus isn't known to be a rocker, so he's not interesting."

"I guess you can see it like that." Paul chuckled, which brought a smile on Richard's face. "So, er, what... kind of music do you like, Richard?"

"Rock 'n' roll, of course. And, uh, I think country is nice." He frowned and looked down at his hands, his face slowly falling. "Geo... he liked... Geo liked _Indian music_."

Paul froze. Completely. The air was stuck somewhere near his throat and he frowned. His arched eyebrows weren't that arched. John frowned too. They knew a George. Who liked Indian music. Who would never shut it about Indian music.

"G-George?" Paul said, hesitant.

"Yeah. George." His name sounded like a melody, a sacred word in Richard's mouth. As if he was afraid to hurt it. As if he was precious.

"George.. _H-Harrison_?" John's voice was careful, almost scared.

When the words left his lips, Richard frowned slowly. He looked like he totally wasn't in pain anymore ; and he wasn't, because his brain, his body, nothing mattered now except those two little words.

"Yes. George Harrison."

" _Oh._ " Paul turned to look at John. They expected lots of things, but not that.

"What did ye do to George?" John's eyes stayed on Richard, suddenly cold and mean. His voice was sharp and strong.

"I _saved_ him. But I... I can't talk 'bout him... not when I'm like _that_." Richard shook his head, his headache coming back even stronger than before.

"Is he.. is he _alive_ , at least?"

Paul's small voice finally forced Richard to look at him, staying quiet for a few seconds. He could see how his big doe eyes were shocked, how his bottom lip was captured by his teeth - George _always_ did the same thing. He pitied the man without really knowing why.

"I think." The answer wasn't satisfying. "If you're asking if I _killed_ him, I didn't. I'd _never_ hurt him.. But I don't know where he is, right now."

"Were you two... in a _relationship_?" Paul carefully asked, frowning. Richard tilted his head on the side.

"Were we?" He asked back. Paul slid a hand on John's thigh again when he felt him tensing up. "But I think I said I don't feel like talkin' about him today, right?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"But tell me. How do you know him?"

"How do **we** know George?" John repeated, blinking. He looked at Paul, waiting for him to answer - since he was George's first friend.

"Mh, well, I... We met in the bus, back in ol' Liverpool."

"Oh, so you're from Liverpool as well." Richard said with a raised eyebrow. John nodded.

"Yeah. And I met him there, in the bus, and we talked about music together. We became friends and we learned how to play the guitar together. I knew his entire family. We even hitchhiked together with our guitars. It was really fun. Then, I met John, and I joined his band, and then I told George about it. "

"Mh, so you're the... _Quarrymen_ , if I do remember well?"

"I... Yes, we were. He... told you about it?" Paul asked, wondering what George could have say. Were they friends? Or more? They had to get answers about it.

"Yes, he did. When he was high, he was always talking about how in another reality we probably were all together, playing music and everythin'."

Paul softly smiled, feeling his heart tightening when memories of him appeared in front of his eyes.

"I loved him." He whispered, and John automatically looked at him. Saying this kind of things wasn't well seen. Just speaking about his feelings wasn't a great thing in Liverpool. "He was like my baby brother."

"He loved you too. He used to talk about you." He stopped and frowned. "Sometimes, I... was surprised because when he first learned about, well, me father, he wasn't... he didn't react like I thought he would. He looked like he already kind of knew what to do. Or what was in my mind. It was amazing. He told me that his best friends had it rough too with their families."

John and Paul stayed quiet at that. They both knew it was dangerous ; Richard knew probably a lot of things about them. What if he managed to escape? It would be bad for both of them. They knew they just had to tell the police, and they'd end it there.

But it didn't really cross their minds. They had a job. They needed _answers_. And Richard had them all in his small body. They just needed to make him confess. And if something happened...

" _Life is such a fucking joke_." Richard's low voice made them look up at him. "Life is such a fucking joke and we're fucking pawns."

How were they supposed to answer? Richard was like a bomb. And he could explode really easily. Especially that day. They had to be careful.

"Richard?" The eldest raised an eyebrow, waiting for Paul to talk. "Why did you surrender to the police?"

"Because of George." He simply answered, shrugging. " _Everything is about George. Everything._ "

Paul swallowed thickly, scratched his cheek with his middle finger, bit his bottom lip. John knew that he was doing that when he was nervous. And Richard probably noticed that. "You know that... this is really dangerous." He finally stated, carefully, shyly, quietly.

"Well, me entire life is about doing dangerous things, Paul. I thought you knew that."

"Still, this is something else."

"Yeah, I know. _**You** know. We know._ " Richard said, with a knowing look in his eyes.

Paul coughed. He hoped nobody would understand what he was implying. Even if homosexuality was now legal... it was still not well seen. John and Paul decided to stay quiet about it. Because they lived fine like that. Their close friends knew and it was enough for them.

But... Richard knew for them. He knew that they were together. How? Did he just... read their bodies language? Did he analyze them? Did he just guess based on their behaviours?

Or did George tell him?

John had this warning look on his face, but Richard looked like he wasn't giving a fuck about it - and it was true. He couldn't care less. Just because he was homosexual - or queer -, it didn't matter for him. And if they were too, well, he didn't care.

"So, er, tell us about- about someone else if you don't feel like talking much about George?" John asked, frowning.

"Ask. I'll answer. I guess."

"How did you feel after Alex?"

Richard closed his eyes, trying to remember. His memories were fuzzy, unclear. And sometimes, it was the opposite. 'Come on, talk' The small voice in his head said. It sounded like George. So he obeyed.

"I... felt lost. Very, very lost." He quietly said. He didn't like that. "I think I wandered in the street for an hour or two and- and I went back home."

"You still lived with your mother, Elsie, is that right?"

"Yeah, but she was working so I... I probably washed my clothes quickly and never talked about it."

"And how was life for the next days?"

"Just... time just disappeared and I kept spacing out, lost in my thoughts. I was paranoid too, I kept checking the newspapers, I felt like someone was followin' me everytime I went outside. I thought my mother knew, my friends knew. I was _scared_."

"Did they know?"

"I... don't think so. My mother had no idea, not at the beginning. She was never at home so she couldn't know that I was coming back late or, well, early. We only saw each other for half an hour every night and that was it. If I looked okay at this moment, then everything was okay. It was like that."

They both nodded. But Paul had a question. But how could he ask it without being agressive? What if Richard felt offended?

John pressed his knee. The youngest looked at him with a frown and just received a small smile. John knew that he was hesitating. So he threw himself.

"Why... weren't you working?"

"It was hard. I was working but I was fired quite a few times ; sometimes I was lacking in motivation and discipline, sometimes I didn't want them to think I wanted to join the Army or whatever. Then, sometimes, it was because I couldn't do the job, er, _physically._ "

John frowned. He was born in 1940 ; he knew kids born the same year, or the year before were afraid to have to go to war. He could understand it. The best way was to work as an apprentice - he knew Richard did. But physically? He didn't remember seeing anything about a physical condition. He looked at Paul, but the lad seemed as lost as he was.

Richard seemed to understand it because he smirked, amused.

"I can't do everything. I told ya I spent some time in hospitals when I was a kid, right?"

"Yeah, you did."

"Well, I was always sick when I was younger. Appendicitis when I was 6. But after getting rid of it, I contracted peritonitis and, poof, coma. Twelve entire months all alone in my white room."

"Wow. It's hard for a kid..." Paul looked truly sad.

"Yeah. I hated it. My mates were always leaving before me and I was stuck there. But I went back home after a while. It was hard with school, I missed so many things. I couldn't read or write... In... 53, I contracted tuberculosis and I was admitted into a sanatorium. I stayed there... two years, I think. It wasn't really that bad, but it sucked, somehow. I wanted to go outside, I wanted to play - but I **couldn't**. It was worse than when I was 6. Because I _realized_ how scary it was, how alone I truly was..." He cleared his throat, shook his head. He could still remember how bored he was in his bed, staying still all day long. "So, yeah, I kept scars. I still am very... sensitive. I can't eat everythin' I want. So I had to be extra careful. Even with work."

"And how was it to.. go back after all this time?"

"Awful. School sucked. I couldn't catch up with the others, I was always the last one. And we were in the Dingle, things were hard, you kno'. Gangs and everythin'. You kept your head down, your eyes open, and you didn't get in anybody's way. That was how things worked back then."

Paul grimaced. He heard a lot of things about the Dingle, and nothing was positive. He avoided this part of town. He knew John did too. Because even if John fought a lot, in front of an entire gang, it was something else. He bit his bottom lip. "It's a rough area... How did you even _survive_?"

Richard chuckled when he saw how innocent and shy Paul looked. "I didn't, not really. I was in a gang, something like that, but I was beaten up badly a few times. When they asked for the money I hardly earned, and I just couldn't give 'em, you know, not when it was to help my mother with the rent. I had to keep the money and give it to her. So it wasn't going their way and I'd end up with a bloody nose, a black eye, bruises all over my body and without money. The neighbours took care of me a few times when I could barely go back home."

"That's- that's awful." Paul whispered, shivering. He got in a few fights too, but nothing like that. He could almost understand why Ringo turned that way. His entire life sounded like an entire joke. A bad one.

Richard just shrugged. He just lived like that. His teenage years were just about survival. He wondered for a moment how he managed to stay alive. Between the gangs and his sickness... He just managed to find a small place and then... then, he left.

"So, er, yeah. Life was still hard and Alex was dead."

"Then, it's..."

"The joker." Richard said, chewing his bottom lip.

"The nickname you gave to Jake, is that it?" Paul asked, tilting his head on the side. Richard just nodded. "Tell us 'bout him."

"Mh. I had this good lad, Dave. We spent our days together, just hanging out together, stealing or just smoking and drinking outside. It was nice. Jake was his father. We called him the Joker because he had a scar near his mouth. When he was smiling, it was a bit scary but he always joked about it."

"Did you know him well?"

"I wouldn't say _well_ , but we talked a few times, when I went to my mate's house. He was funny, probably an old gangster. He was strict and protective sometimes and he was a real pain in the arse but we learned how to handle him."

He could still see their house ; in the Dingle, since it was a poor area, everyone had similar houses. Elsie liked to decorate the house with frames and beautiful things because she hated this feeling of having the same house than the neighbour. But the Joker didn't really care about their house. His wife did put some photos up on the walls but it wasn't much and the house seemed a bit lifeless. Jake was always sitting in front of the telly, a cigarette between his lips. His wife usually was painting in another room or in the kitchen, where she could still see her husband. It was always like that and Richard couldn't remember something else about it.

"One day... I was supposed to meet Dave to go see the new record shop. When he came, his face was all red - he truly looked awful and I remember thinking that maybe his bird dumped him or somethin'. He told me that his father left them, saying that he had a new job in another town and that he thought about it for years but waited for Dave to be old enough."

Everytime Richard talked about fathers, Paul was a little bit more disgusted. He couldn't understand how a father could leave his entire family and not taking care of them ; he could understand that sometimes, love wasn't meant to last in a married couple, but the children's sake was the most important thing, wasn't it?

"I spent the evening with him, and I told him to go sleep at my house. He looked glad and we talked until he fell asleep. I stayed awake, and the lad began to cry in his sleep. It was awful so I walked out of the bedroom and caught my mother when she was back from work. I told her about Dave and she was completely okay with him staying here. Then, she went to bed. I was standing alone in the corridor, and it was... I felt empty. So I left the house... I just know that I walked for a _long_ time."

He shrugged, frowning. The medecines weren't helping with his memories. He felt the beginning of another headache tickling the back of his mind. He chose to ignore it for now.

"Next thing I can remember... I was cutting his tongue, in the middle of a forest. And he was unconscious. I couldn't even... recognize him. His face was all bloody and ugly but somehow it wasn't that disgusting. It almost looked like art. I think I stayed a long time there. He didn't move. I watched him. His legs didn't look fine, I guess I hit him there to keep him close. I think about that a lot after. But... I knew I was forced to go back home at some point. I only left after an hour or two in front of him. I felt so calm, it was weird. I went back, I washed my clothes and I was back in my bed. Everyone was sleeping. _Nobody knew_."

"You don't remember anything else?" John asked, frowning.

Richard rolled his eyes and frowned because of the pain. Oh, this was going to be a really painful headache. He hoped he'd have the possibility to sleep because he didn't feel like fighting it. But he still was with them... "No. I told ye, those bloody idiots gave me medicines, my head is a fuckin' _mess_."

"C'mon, try **harder**. I'm sure you can do it."

"Look, I really can't. My head aches."

"I'm sure you-"

"Listen to me, _piggie_ , just go **fuck** your mate and leave me alone, okay? I don't give a fuck about my memories. I told you, _fatty_ , my head hurts, I don't even remember what was my last meal. You probably do, but I _don't_."

John froze. His mouth was opened in shock. Paul looked surprised too. He knew insisting wasn't a good idea ; he wanted to stop John, but Richard did it first. And it wasn't the best way to do it. If John got mad...

So, the youngest cleared his throat and slowly stood up. His tone became a little bit colder.

"We're leavin', then. Try to remember."

" **Fuck ya.** " Richard mumbled and waited for the guards to take care of him, as always.

"Yeah, sure."

Paul turned around, grabbed John's sleeve and walked out of the prison.

Once again, they went back to the flat without a sound. This time, when Paul fell in the couch, John didn't come with him. He stayed on his sofa, looking through the window. Paul slowly stood up and sat besides him, his arm around his waist.

"John?" He carefully tried, drawing soothing circles on his stomach through his jumper.

"What?"

Paul bit his bottom lip but ignored his bitter tone. He softly whispered back, afraid to make him angry. "You know you can talk to me, love."

"Fuck, it's-" He began, his voice heated and cruel, but stopped when he realized it. He moved and stood up, sitting on the low table they used to hate because they would always hurt their toes. But they liked it too much to get rid of it. "I just- it's... He's an _arsehole_."

"Well, he isn't known to be an _angel_."

"You kno' what I mean-" This time, John put his head in his hands with a loud groan. "He.."

"Is that because of what he said?" Paul tried when he understood that John was too pissed off - or too hurt - to even answer with coherent sentences.

John stayed quiet but he pressed his hands against his face, his fingers against his eyelids. He put so much pressure on them he started to see dots of different colors dancing in the darkness. He stopped when it began to hurt.

"C'mon, Johnny, you _can't_ let him touch you like that. You know he wants that!"

"I'm not- he's- you-" He mumbled and rubbed his face.

"It's _nothin'_ , really, Johnny. You shouldn't believe him. You know he just wants to piss you off, to test you."

John stood up with so much strength Paul thought he'd fall on him, but he didn't. They stared at each other for a second. John looked more than pissed off. He looked hurt, sad, disgusted and very angry. Paul stood up too and extended his arm to touch his cheek, but John snapped it away with a groan.

" _How the fuck can you even know?_ You can't understand." He bitterly said, and his words were a real poison. Paul stepped back, looking pretty hurt himself.

"John, it's just some words said by a crazy man, you can't actually believe him, you're not _stupid_ -"

" **Fuck you, Paul** , very much. Things are _easy_ for you, yeah, they are." John turned around, looking so disgusted Paul thought he'd cry right there - but he knew John was disgusted by himself, not by Paul. It was worse. "Fuck it, _you can't understand a thing!_ "

"Things aren't easy for me, love, don't be like that, please. You know I love you, right?"

"How could you even understand?" This time it was barely a whisper and John walked away with a _"I'm going to bed, leave me alone"_.

Paul stood there, alone, for an entire minute. Then, he sat back down, took a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes.

Richard was going to kill them. He was going to win and Paul could just watch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAANd it's the end of this chapter!!  
> Richard actually likes them a bit. But he's like a moody teenager (who kills people, yeah, well..)  
> John's gonna be fine - eventually - and Paul's a bit lost but they'll be okayyy believe me  
> I actually have a huge exam tomorrow and I know nothing but well I'll be fine too  
> So yeah it's gonna be short to write 2 chapters just tomorrow night but I'll manage to do something nice don't worry.  
> I'm actually writing a chapter that'll come in a looong time but well, all I can say is that you should prepare some tissues... just in case eheheheh.  
> Anyways, see ya around, have a nice day, a nice month a nice year and everything!


	4. In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine (first part)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul won't let Richard hurt John again.  
> Instead, he's going to confront Richard.  
> And, together, they'll try to break his mask. They want to face the real Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello hello!  
> I'm back!  
> I wasn't home but I came back and I wrote and wrote.  
> So, this chapter's gonna be in two parts, because it's pretty long.  
> I also have to thank you for your kind comments. I'm very lucky because they're all really nice.  
> I have to add ; the "Ringo-serial-killer"'s idea came from a book I'm actually reading (which is about serial killers). And I was reading a biography about Ringo, something like that I think, and poof, the idea appeared by itself.  
> A huge thanks to everyone (and especially whatelsedoihavetosay 'cause that was the sweetest thing I've ever read about my writing, really, thanks thanks thanks)  
> Also, thanks to my very first reader, just for, well, being here and everything (sappy sappy sappy).  
> Anyways, I hope you'll like it!  
> Bonne lecture!

"Good morning, lads."

Richard offered them a little smile, moving his hand, inviting them to sit down at their usual seats. He seemed in a good mood, but Paul saw past that ; he was in a good mood, yeah, but he looked like he was a little bit proud. Paul took it that it was because he had the upper hand the last time.

The previous time. Two months ago. It took time for John to accept that Richard was just provocking him. Paul tried everything to make him forget. He knew John was insecure about his body - about everything that made him who he was-, but he didn't _know_ how to handle that. And now that Richard knew it too, it wasn't good. Paul needed to remember that the lad was observant. He saw through them easily. He didn't know if it was because George talked about it, or because he was just really good.

Speaking of George, today was the day they'd learn what happened. Paul wouldn't walk away _without answers about his friend._

"Good morning, Richard. How are you, today?" He asked while sitting down next to John.

"I'm fine." He stopped for a minute, frowned as if he was trying to understand something. Then, he looked directly at John with a small, superior smile. "How are you, _piggie_?"

It looked like he was saying it as a joke - more or less. Paul raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. He thought about it for _two entire months_. He knew how to react.

"Richard, **stop**." He simply said, shaking his head.

"What, is Mr. _Baby Face_ jealous? D'you want me to _hurt you_ too?"

"Look, I'll be really **clear** with you. We're here for work. You can... try this again and again but it's just not gonna work anymore. You want things to be different and we can do it. We're here for George, and this time, we'll have answers."

Richard looked at his hands. Well, he lost the upper hand, then. Maybe John was more vulnerable... but Paul didn't even look like he heard him. It sucked. For a moment, he thought that he could kill them just so easily ; and it'd be _nice_ , he knew it all too well.

Paul watched Richard frown in confusion, shaking his head and whispering a little _"what the fuck, no"_. He had to think more about it. But it wasn't the right time.

" _Richard_. Talk to us about George."

"What the fuck d'you wanna know about him? I thought you already _knew him_."

"Don't go again with this. _Be serious_. Think about him."

Paul was serious ; he leaned closer, while John just leaned back against his chair, arms crossed on his chest. He didn't look like he was thinking about Richard's words. But it was only a facade ; he thought about it for a long time. How could Richard know about how insecure he was with just two sessions? Paul only got it after _months and months_ of being best friends. And it was mostly because John's mother died.

But he, somehow, understood that Richard was observant. He spent his days watching the guards. He knew the body's language. He probably just saw it on John. Or maybe George said it one or two times and he just... remembered.

"George was young for you, wasn't he?" He finally said, his piercing eyes sliding on Richard's face, trying to analyze him. If the lad was good, he had to be _as good as him_. "I thought you were more into older men."

Richard frowned again, shaking his head. "Nah. George... George is... was... no, is? _He's just not the same_."

"Tell us more about that, please." Paul said, biting his bottom lip.

Richard stayed quiet. He seemed deeply lost in his thoughts, searching for the right memories. But they were buried _so deep_ in his mind, it was like a hunt and he truly _hated_ it.

"Do you know all of my victims?" He asked with a frown.

"Mh, we think so. The first one is Alex. We already talked about him." He began. Richard just nodded. "Then, the Joker, Jake." Once again, Richard agreed. "The third one must be... Chris." At that, Richard frowned, repeated the name a few times.

"I don't remember this."

"Er, he... How to say it."

"He was the one who was beatin' his children. You shot him in the legs."

"Oh. Yeah. This one. That was a great idea. I should have done... _something else_ , though." He dreamily said with a slight frown. He wasn't stupid, but he truly wanted to hurt him some more. But the man was dead, and, well, he just couldn't say that out loud, not talking about his actual thoughts, if he wanted to make it out alive.

But did he want to make it out _alive?_ He, himself, wasn't really sure about it. He was just here because he had nothing else to do. Running away forever? Without anyone? Without _George_? No.

"Then... We don't have a name but it was a male prostitute." Paul kept going, taking him out of his reverie.

"Mh-mh. I remember him. But things were _different_ with him."

"Were they? Talk, then." John's voice was always rougher than Paul's. Richard didn't like his usual tone. But it wasn't like he could change it anyways.

"We stayed together during the evening but at some point his... wife called, I think. He just never answered the phone and just told me about how he was thinking of leaving her. _'Ya kno' the butterflies are jus' gone mate'_. That's what he said, with his accent and his pretty smile. Then, he was dead."

Paul was about to ask him some details, but he did the same thing he did to Alex, so he guessed it would be of no use. If someone asked for more, he would ask Richard about it. But now _wasn't_ the right time.

"So, after that... three prostitutes. Not at the same time, but it was close. People wondered if it was Jack the Ripper but it was you and the police knew it ; the same way of killing. Why so many prostitutes?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. He just looked curious and nothing more. Richard thought it was a bit weird but didn't talk about it.

"I was... _lost_. I moved out at some point so I was living alone, I was completely alone every- hour of every day. Once again, I was all paranoid, scared and nervous, I needed to... focus on something else." He chewed the inside of his cheek, frowning. "I was losing my mind and I was alone. I needed to... feel somethin'. It worked with the first one. At least for some time."

He could still remember how he _hated_ himself after it, because he spent days searching the prostitute - males prostitutes weren't easy to find. Ending up with a prostitute was awful. He felt bad and pathetic but never talked about it. Maybe once or twice with George, but that was it. He didn't want to feel vulnerable, no way.

"And the three others, tell us more about 'em." Paul asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, the last one was very different but the two in-between weren't... I went back because I felt awful and I wanted to feel good _at least_ for an hour or two, you know." Paul looked comprehensive, so he kept going. "It was probably the worst period of my life. I was a _mess_. I don't remember... clearly this period. I think I took some drugs and... and things like that, you know. So, the prostitutes... They just... probably mentioned things about their families and I lost it again. I was seeing red. And I was finally letting go of my anxiety and everything... I was _relieved_."

John raised an eyebrow, again, and was about to speak - about to say something _sarcastic_ \- when Paul did, giving him a warning look. Then, he focused back on Ringo.

"And did it help? Were you finally calm?" Ringo groaned and shrugged in answer. "What was so different with the last one, then?"

Richard closed his eyes and tried to find the exact memory in his mind. If he forced himself enough, he could almost _feel_ the soft skin under his fingers. He opened his eyes again to look at them.

"It was the best time I've ever had. Yeah. It was what I was looking for, you know, and I felt so calm and... peaceful. It was weird but for once I wasn't hearing awful things or thinking about what I did." And he looked relaxed telling the story, too. John still had troubles understanding how he could look so insensitive, as if it was someone else who murdered those people. "But at some point, we were probably just quiet and lying on the bedsheets when I noticed bruises on his body, small ones but old ones. I asked him about it. I probably thought it was an old client. But you know how people are, right? Eye for eye, etc, and secret for secret."

John visibly rolled his eyes at the "etc" but didn't mention it when he talked. "So? What did you say to him? Letting go isn't like you."

"You're right, Johnny. I asked if he could keep a secret and he said yes. He probably added something like _'with my job, you don't have lots of friends or even a family so I can't talk about it'_. It was enough for me. I told him that I had a huge secret and that I couldn't speak first."

"Yeah, you can't tell someone you don't know something _that_ big. I know **I** wouldn't." Paul commented, nodding. Richard did the same thing.

"Yeah. But he wasn't okay to talk too. He was scared I would walk away after it without talking about my own secret." Ringo smirked while shaking his head. "He was cute, I wasn't waiting much from him but I promised I wouldn't tell. To gain his trust, I tied myself up to the bed - just one hand - and I gave him the key."

Paul's eyes widened. "But that's _dangerous_ , why would you do it just for a prostitute?" He asked, frowning and clearly not able to understand.

"Even tho' he was cute, it's not enough to risk _everything_ , right?" John's voice quickly cut Paul's end of sentence. He was frowning too.

Richard shrugged in answer but smirked when he saw their faces. "I wanted some fun. And in the worst case.. I knew I could take care of him if he wanted to run away. Not a problem. And I was curious to know his story. We're all curious, in the end, right? I guess it's the human nature."

Paul and John didn't answer. They were curious and that's why they were doing this job. Somehow, they knew why Richard did it. But the difference was important between giving a secret for a secret and tying yourself up to know it. They knew they wouldn't go that far.

_Or would they?_

"Anyways, it was enough to convince him. He told me that his father discovered his job and beat him up. He used to do it really often, and it had been already _three years_. Do I need to tell you in which state I was?"

John looked like he was searching very hard, squinting his eyes and scratching his chin. "Mh, _let me think_... you were pissed off?"

Richard was amused. He made a _"tling tling"_ noise, which was supposed to sound like victory. "Yeah. I was clean for probably a month... but the urge came back so strongly. I can still remember it so vividly. The goosebumps, the need deep down into my mind..." He closed his eyes for a second. "I told him right away. It was hard for him to talk about his father, he needed time to breathe and to find his words, but it wasn't for me.. not in this state. I just said it. _'You know the Fathers' killer? Yeah, well, that's me, it's your lucky day, make a wish'_ and that was it."

Paul raised an eyebrow and softly write on the small notebook that he had to ask him later about his name. It could be useful. Probably.

John kept Richard's attention on him, even if he didn't need to. "And? How did he react? Did he run away?" He was about to ask for more but stopped himself before. No, he needed to be careful and it would probably piss him off to be overwhelmed by his questions.

"No. I thought he would run away too, to be completely honest with you, but he didn't. He stared at me for so long. Like an eternity. I wanted to move but I couldn't with the handcuffs. So I waited in silence and I just... stared back."

Paul raised a curious eyebrow. "And you analyzed him. Like you did with us. _Results_?" John raised an eyebrow too. Paul wasn't usually that blunt. John was the blunt one.

Richard looked surprised for a second and John thought that they saw through his mask. But the mask appeared directly after he disappeared. Although he did seem impressed - a little bit. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. He was thinking about what to- what to do, you know. He probably had a _dilemma_ but I couldn't find what it was. Even tho' he was really surprised at first, he quickly changed his expression and he was, er... interested? Yeah, interested in my secret. I couldn't find why and it wasn't a nice feeling."

"Interested in you because he wanted you to kill his father?" John asked, his eyes sparkling with intelligence. Paul always loved that. People used to think he wasn't that clever. But John was a _genius_ , in his own way.

And Richard seemed to discover it. He stayed quiet, just looking at him, analyzing him. Then, he softly smiled. He looked like a nice teddy bear like that. "Yeah, that's what I thought too, at first."

"But that's not what happened." Paul said, shaking his head. He quickly wrote something on his notebook and looked up at Richard after. "And if he actually asked you that? What would you have done?"

Richard thought about it. The answer appeared by itself in his mind. "I think I'd have done it." And he shrugged. He just _shrugged_ , as if he said that he'd have take salt with his mashed potatoes. As if he wasn't talking about killing someone. It was scary, and a shiver ran down John's spine.

But John knew it was the job, so he ignored it and kept his own mask.

"Okay. So, what really happened, then?"

Richard's face visibly darkened and he softly frowned, biting his bottom lip. "He didn't say a thing but he gave me the key back and told me to untie myself. I did. But I wasn't understanding what he wanted, not really. If it wasn't for his father - and time went by, I could tell it was even deeper than that - then _why was I still there?_ "

"Yeah, it's... weird. Did he talk?" Paul asked, frowning too.

"I think he saw I was bored. I was about to get up when he told me he wanted to _die_."

It took them a minute to get it. John frowned more and Paul opened his mouth. Well, they expected a lot of things - not that. The most awful thing was Richard's face ; he seemed totally okay with it. John knew by now that this mask was a wall. Paul had the same. He, himself, had the same. They both used it because of loss and what happened when they were children. In a way, it was the same for Richard.

_Maybe, if one or two things happened differently... they would be sitting at Richard's place, and he wouldn't be there._

Goosebumps appeared on John's arms and he quickly blinked to stop his thoughts. He couldn't think like that, not when he was working with cops. He turned to look at Paul, who looked like he was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. When he felt John's stare on him, he looked up, and they just stayed like that for a second - but it seemed like an hour for them.

It was enough to calm both of them down.

Richard didn't miss a thing, but he stayed quiet.

It was John who broke it when he felt fine enough to keep going. "So, er, you killed him."

"Yeah, I did. I killed him because he.." He frowned, blinked, and the mask fell again. This time, he looked truly lost and anxious, shaking his head - and shaking in general, biting the inside of his cheek to the point where he probably tasted his own blood. The real Richard. "He was.. holdin' onto me as if I was his- his _life savior_. He was desperated. He said he- tried to do it by himself but it was too hard, but me-... me. I could do it. And he was crying and- and almost _begging_.."

Then, he seemed to notice that he wasn't supposed to show himself like that _to anyone. And especially not to them._ He quickly closed his eyes, mumbling, and the grimace on his face slowly, really slowly disappeared.

Paul's eyes didn't leave him, watching every move with interest. He saw how Richard's hands stopped shaking, how his breathing went back to normal, how he opened his eyes again, totally calm.

It was, indeed, impressive. They saw other people do things like that ; calming down by themselves when they were close to a panic attack, but nothing that impressive. They would just lose it at some point ; some even cried. But Richard was the first one to resist like that.

It was a good sign for them. If they managed to reach George's story, he would break. Paul felt it.

"So I killed him." He softly said, as if nothing happened. Paul quickly wrote down that they had to talk about how he could restrain himself like this.

"Was it different?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because it was the first time you cut his tongue... after the murder. And you beat him up after too. You strangled him, right?"

"Yes, I did."

Paul leaned closer again, his cheek pressed against his fist, his eyebrows slowly going back to their usual arched position. "People said that it was They said you were in love, but you couldn't stop it- they called it an _addiction_. Addiction to murder. What do you think?"

Richard laughed, a laughter without any joy. It just was too funny to hear people trying to analyze a murderer when they knew nothing, when they couldn't even guess what was a lie and what wasn't. "Love, ah. No, I wasn't in love. I'm not sure I liked him that much. But I tried to do it quickly. I needed to feel him.. die. So I strangled him. I don't know if you can call that an addiction. I managed to stay clean for years now, right?"

"Yeah, but who knows, you might actually kill again if you were out." Richard shrugged at John's comment, mumbling a soft " _maybe_ ". "Did something happen when he was dying?"

"It was... _sad_. He was crying but he didn't fight back. He wasn't muscular so I knew I could handle him fighting back - but he _didn't_. He just looked at the ceiling, choking. I think he whispered something about God at some point. It was so sad. So different from what I knew. He was _used_ to it. Probably because of his job but- mostly because of his father."

Again, the debate of "what's the bravest thing to do" went in Paul and John's mind. It was always like that ; was it braver to stay on Earth or braver to know and to decide when to leave? They always thought that fighting was the most important thing ; but in the victim's case, it was... hard. To do something else.

Paul and John themselves thought about comitting suicide. John more than Paul.

"And- and it was it?" Paul asked, high-pitched voice. He cleared his throat, blinked a few times when Richard nodded. "And why- why did you... did you beat him up and cut his tongue after it?"

Richard frowned, took his time to think about it, to go back to the memory of the murder. He could remember it - compared to the first ones. Was it because it was not that old? Or because it was a powerful moment? Where he didn't lose control? He didn't know. He wished he had the answer. "I... just felt like doing it... and of course after. The poor kid suffered enough, don't you think?"

John played with the sleeve of his shirt. "Probably. But it doesn't make sense. You wouldn't do somethin' just because you _'feel like doing it'_." He squinted his eyes, trying to see past his mask again, to reach the _real_ Richard - but Richard wasn't going to put his guard down again, not just for that, not without a good reason. "The tongue was more of a symbolic thing than a _need_ , wasn't it?"

Richard's face fell again and he pursed his lips, chewing on the bottom one."I don't wanna talk about it."

John was about to ask for more, but he remembered last time and stayed quiet. Paul could feel the tension in his body, so he coughed, playing with his pen.

"So, er, the next victim... is the prostitute's father. Did you actually look for him?"

"No, no, it was really not something I had planned." He shook his head with a small smile. "People talked a lot about the murder of, you know, the prostitute. I know where he was buried, so, one day, I decided to stop by, I didn't really know why, but I did. I felt calmer since the prostitute, so peaceful. But I had moments where... everything felt awful and cruel and stupid." He frowned, blinked, chewed his lip harder. "I was in a good mood when I went to see his grave, so it was fine."

John made a mental note ; he would have to give a look at his mental illnesses' book. He already knew it by heart but he had to read every details again. Because Richard had something... what? That was the question. He just had to find out. It wouldn't be that hard, _right?_ Even though he had only small pieces about it... And even if he couldn't put a name on it, he was sure that Richard wasn't "normal". Like the time where he looked like he was talking to himself... the mood changes... yeah. He had to think about it.

"And you saw the father there?" Paul asked, not paying attention to John's pensive face.

"Yeah, I was searching for the right one when I saw him. I went to put some flowers on the grave and he asked me if I knew his son. I said that we talked together."

"Did you tell him that you met him because of his job?"

Richard quickly shook his head, looking almost shocked. "Oh, no. The old man would have make an heart attack. I knew it was a sensitive subject, I couldn't just bring it like that. _'Oh, hello, my name's Richard. Yeah, I knew your son, I shagged him'!"_ He sarcastically add, and John just smirked, visibly amused. Paul rolled his eyes at them but a soft smile was on his lips.

"No, we talked for a few minutes, and I noticed he was pretty drunk. I didn't know if he really missed his son.. or if it was a lie, and it was hard to see through him." He frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek again. Paul could easily imagine small scars because of this bad habit. "But he was really drunk. Not just a little. It's so easy to get answers like this. People are stupid."

"Well, I bet you drank too, in your life." John said, with a raised eyebrow.

Richard rolled his eyes at him. "I know you got it anyways. So we talked about his son. Best way to learn a secret is to give one too. No need for it to be true, right?" His eyes sparkled, mischievous smile on his lips. "I told him I was here to see the grave of an aunt. I told that she was a prostitute and that I _hated_ her for that but my parents forced me to do it."

Paul seemed to agree to his methods. Sometimes, lying was for the best. He wasn't all against it. It could be useful. " _Clever_ , I must admit. How did he react?"

"His entire behaviour changed... I was finally facing _him_. Not what he wanted me to see. He began to whisper, saying that his son was a prostitute too, and that he was relieved that he was dead - he would be forgotten and wouldn't be a shame anymore."

Paul's face fell and his eyes darkened. He slowly shook his head. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he was glad Richard actually killed him. He knew John was thinking the same - he didn't even have to look at him to know his opinion. "People are ugly.." He mumbled, scratching his cheek with his middle finger.

"I agree, Paul, I agree. But I agreed to his words, and the urge was there again. It was eating me from the inside, I couldn't think straight... I needed to kill him. _I needed it._ And I swear I could see the prostitute's face in front of my eyes everytime I blinked. I could hear his voice in my mind, begging me to kill him too. So I offered him a drink in a pub."

"And he agreed, of course. _Never too drunk_."

"Yeah. Exactly. He followed me. I took him in the forest and I said that it was in the nearest town, a huge pub with girls. I told him I knew the place and the people and I would get free drinks. He was more than okay with it. He followed. When we were completely alone in the forest, I took my gun out - and I shot his legs."

"And then, it's _history._ " John said, nodding. Richard stayed quiet, visibly agreeing. He didn't like to talk that much. But it's not like he had the choice.

"The last one, now. We don't have a name. Too badly beaten up and the police wasn't feeling like spending a lot of money on it, I guess." John said, looking at his nails and back at Richard. "What's the story of this one?"

Richard stayed quiet, frowning and blinking. John leaned closer, watching every move the man made. It seemed like a dilemma. Like a fight, in his head, in his mind. John began to think that he had someone, up there. Someone else. Something else. He would have to learn more about this. Because it could actually help Richard, in a way or another.

Even though John wasn't sure if he wanted to help him. He felt _connected_ to the lad, that was sure. He knew Paul was thinking the same. They just couldn't leave him if they didn't know the entire truth. There was something between them, something else than just George, than just some relationships. Something old... old and powerful. John wasn't a spiritual or a religious man, nor was Paul, but he couldn't help wondering if it had something to do with their _souls_.

He decided not to think too much about that, since they still had work to do. Paul decided for him, actually, when he talked.

"You don't feel like talking about it? Is the memory too painful? Too _awful?_ " He said, blunt but not agressive like John would have been. He leaned closer too, watching how Richard bit his bottom lip. "Do you want my opinion on it, Richard? I'll tell the story like I see it if you can't do it yourself." No answer. Paul took a long breath. "You didn't kill for months and months. But you **needed** it. You... were becoming crazy. _Insane_. You began to lose it, more and more, and it scared you so much." He waited to see if Richard reacted. He swallowed thickly, and Paul watched his Adam's apple go up and down. He knew he was right. "It was _worse_ than before. The worst feeling you felt in your whole life. Around this time, you began to drink even more than you usually were. It wasn't healthy, but nothing was healthy, in your life. What was the point?" Paul softly whispered, and he knew his words had an effect on the killer. John got it, and he followed too.

"Why were you still here? I bet you asked yourself the same question over and over, wondering if you should _end_ everything. But you knew it wouldn't satisfy you in any way. Hurting yourself wasn't _enough_. Your life already was a mess, you couldn't destroy something else... Your body? You probably tried once or twice. But it wasn't enough. You needed to kill. You needed to feel the life slowly leaving a body because of you. You needed to see it, to feel everything. It became an addiction, and you just _couldn't_ fight anymore."

"You actually _never fought it at all_ , right, Richard? Like a spoiled child, you always killed when you felt the need. It wasn't that hard to find someone, was it?" Richard's fingers were shaking. "So, like you usually did, you let the anger, the urge take over, and again, it wasn't you. Like a _beast. Because that's what you were, Ringo, and you know I'm right._ "

He let his words float between them, invading Richard's mind. The man closed his eyes, shaking and frowning. Paul and John thought it was it. He was losing his mask again, for good. They broke him. Richard stayed still for a long minute, looking at his hand and blinking a few times in a row. Then, he began to mumble, talking to himself. John leaned closer to hear him. 'I know- I know, love, hush, hush, I know, yeah-' and he kept saying it again and again, with a strong Scouse accent.

John slowly began to think, putting pieces and pieces together, frowning. He turned to look at Paul. And he mouthed ' _George_ '. Paul frowned, tilted his head on the side, looked at Richard. And he understood what John meant.

The thing calming Richard down was George. It was _**George**_. Richard kept him in his mind all the time. He probably was hearing his voice, and he was answering him.

Paul could understand it, in a way. When John wasn't there, he would hear his sarcastic voice everytime he did something stupid. It probably was the same for John. But Richard seemed to be on the next level. The accent, the way he stopped moving just to blink for a long time... Because if George wasn't there, he wouldn't _survive_ , would he?

"So you found someone. And you let _everything_ go. Completely. You've never went _that_ far before, but now, now, if even yourself couldn't stop you... there was _no one_ to tell you to stop. So you didn't. And you cut his tongue and you shot his legs and you beat him up like you've never did before just because you could. But what was the next thing you wanted to do, Richard? How were you supposed to keep on living after that? _How in the world are you still there?_ "

"Because I found _him_... I found George." Richard finally said in a small, calm voice. He managed, in between, to put the mask back on. But he looked still vulnerable. Still... on the edge of falling back into the _real_ Richard, and he didn't want that. But he couldn't control it anymore. John and Paul were good. That was for sure. "I saved him, I guess, but **he saved me** too."

"Tell us, Richard, tell us about Georgie." Paul whispered, with his soft voice. He knew they were finally going to know. And he _needed_ to know. So badly.

"I- Geo's me **universe**. He's the stars, the planets, he's everything out there. Nothing else matters. _In the end, it's just- it's just George..._ " He answered in a whisper, pain visible on his face.

"Why are you here, if you love him that much? Why did you went to the police? Why didn't you stay with the man you love?"

"Because he disappeared. He left. What's the point of living alone? I want to know if- if he's still alive. If he's dead, then I wanna die too. If he's not, then, I wanna know why he left - and I wanna go back to him. I only live for him. He's my soulmate, he's... he's my _life_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLAP it's the end of the first part!  
> How was it? Weird? Nice? I don't know lol.  
> It was nice to finally break Richard a little bit, I'm proud of me boys because they managed to make it eheheh.  
> So yeah, I know, this cliffanger is awful. Even for myself, ew.  
> But I'm already working on the second part. And this time, I swear, you'll learn everything Richard wants to say about our little Georgie. And in a few chapters, everything will be sooo clear.  
> I hope you liked it! I have to go sleep now (as always), so good night, good day, everything positive blablabla!


	5. In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine (second part)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally talk about George.

As always, they were all quiet. John couldn't help but think that Richard found his true love. Like he, himself, found Paul. They were the same, weren't they? It was scary, how similar they were. John could have been Richard. They just made different choices in their lives... but he could have ended up like him. It was scary to realize it ; to _accept_ it. And he knew just how dangerous it was ; if he began to understand a serial killer on a _personal_ level...

No, it wasn't good. He _shouldn't_. But he couldn't help himself. How was he even supposed to ignore it? To banish his own feelings? He couldn't care less about what he was supposed to do, actually. Richard was different. He wasn't like the serial killers they met before. He was probably insane too, yes, and he probably thought about killing them a few times - John wouldn't ignore that - but there was this strange bond between the three of them... that John couldn't ignore too. He knew it was the same with Paul.

And maybe, _maybe_ Richard felt it too. He surely wasn't normal, but he wasn't dumb. Which was also quite surprising.

Paul learnt it at school and used to repeat it to John when he had exams ; serial killers have a lower IQ. But Richard? Richard was clever. If it wasn't for George, he wouldn't be there. The 'Fathers' Killer' case would have been closed. And he would still live quietly with his love.

So why, _**why** was he here?_

John couldn't picture him being the first one to walk away. He was fond of George. He would die for him, that was obvious. So, George was the one to disappear. But _why?_

The young man was completely lost in his thoughts, trying to find an answer by himself - when he could have asked Richard. Paul thought about it before and snapped both of them out of their thoughts, ignoring the slight grimace on Richard's face and the dreamy look in his blue eyes.

"Tell us somethin'... _anythin'_ about him." He softly said, just because he needed to know George was okay. He missed him so- so, **_so_** much.

Richard looked truly serious, and he looked back at Paul. Then, calmly, he talked. "Once, he was really sick, and we called someone 'cause I was scared 'bout his state. And George freaked out when he saw the needle and he stabbed the man with it. Nothing much, but the man left quickly."

They all looked quietly at each other for a minute. Paul's lips slowly stretched in a smile, and, then, he was laughing. He needed to unleash his nervousness, and it was a good way. He thought Richard would say something serious, or sad, or awful... and he just said that George actually _stabbed someone with a needle because he was too scared_. It felt good to let go of the pressure constantly on his shoulders. And it felt almost normal, as if they weren't in a prison ; as if the guard wasn't here, as if Richard wasn't tied up... as if they were friends.

John slowly smirked and tried not to chuckle too, resulting in a smile oftenly broke by a small snorting noise. And then, Richard gave up too and softly smiled, and even laughed when Paul's laughter increased between the three of them. Soon, they were all laughing, thinking that the guard probably thought they were all crazy. Maybe. But the three of them needed it. John and Paul were nervous constantly ; and Richard couldn't laugh here. It was their opportunity to stop time, even if it wasn't for long.

So they laughed, not giving a care about the world, as if they were three best friends, sitting on a couch. Ringo liked the idea. He wished things were like that. But they weren't.

Instead, he slowly stopped laughing, and Paul and John did the same, holding onto their stomachs and wiping absent tears, smiles on their lips.

"Yeah... George was deadly scared of needles. He was always avoiding doctors for tha'. And he's _not_ the only one." Paul said, giving John a long look. A soft blush appeared on John's cheeks and he stuck his tongue out of him.

This seemed so normal.

**It wasn't.**

Richard cleared his throat, even if his expression seemed calm, peaceful and almost satisfied. Hard to think that, fifteen minutes earlier, he was shaking and mumbling. "What d'you wanna know about George, then? I'll talk."

Paul looked truly surprised. He opened his mouth, blinked a few times, and his right eyebrow arched a few times in different ways - Richard was _very_ impressed by his eyebrows. So, John decided to talk, letting Paul some time to actually think - the lad talked a lot that day. He knew Paul liked to protect him, but he didn't like when he was doing all of the work.

"How did you meet him?"

Richard leaned back against his chair, closed his eyes for a few seconds. The memory was far away, buried deep somewhere into the back of his mind. When he finally found it, his face darkened a little bit.

"It was... right after my last... murder. He just... saw me. And I couldn't deny it, I was still covered with blood. I probably threatened him, because I couldn't let him go if he knew. But I did it because people usually do in films... not because I really didn't want him to talk. I was a bit dizzy, empty inside. I had no goal and I was thinking... the same thing you said earlier. What was the point of living anymore? Why was I even _here_?" He wished he wasn't tied up, because he felt like pressing the bridge of his nose, hard. Or maybe rubbing his face with his hands. Or even pull at his hair. He _hated_ this memory. Not because of how he, himself, was... "Geo was hurt... physically _and_ mentally. He didn't even flinch. I saw myself in him. He looked like a cute, little broken bird. So I took him to my flat and I took care of him."

" _Hurt?_ " Paul looked alarmed, frowning, and waves of worry was coming out of him. Richard could feel it. "Why was he hurt? In both ways. George wasn't unhappy when he was... with us."

Slowly, a small, sad smile appeared on Richard's lips, and John thought he was dreaming. This was the first time Ringo looked that sincere. Not faking sadness. Not faking anything. George had this power on him. It was amazing. Richard then softly shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not the person you should ask that about.. If you wanna know, find George. _Ask him yourself_. I promised I would never talk about it if he wasn't there to agree."

John and Paul looked at each other. They _had_ to find George. And they were his best friends - no matter what. They would find him. And they would learn the entire truth, finally.

When Paul looked back at Richard, he opened his mouth to talk again but stopped before doing so, a memory quickly appearing in front of his eyes.

_The Harrison's door. He was knocking, again and again, when, finally, George's father opened the door. Paul and John tried to call George for days, and they never got an answer. They were just too worried to forget about it, so Paul managed to go to his house._

_"Hi, sir, is Georgie here?"_

_The way his father's face fell, looking at him up and down - it was just too weird. Paul thought that he did something wrong. Maybe George was just really sick? Well, if it was that, he wanted to know it too. It wasn't a bad decision to go there. It couldn't._

_"Sir? Is something wrong? We- John and I, we... tried to call but-"_

_"George isn't here anymore. He disappeared."_

_And the door was closed._

It was the last time Paul talked to George's father.

He never answered when they called. When John went to their house, nobody would come out. They even tried to talk to Louise but she was called by her father and, once again, they had no answers.

Richard cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow. "A penny for your thoughts?"

Paul blinked, just noticing that he spaced out for probably an entire minute. He frowned and scratched his cheek with his middle finger. "Mh, I was just- I just remembered how weird his family became."

"Can you... tell me more about them, please?" Richard asked. His voice seemed a little bit higher than usual, and he was speaking weirdly fine.

"Mh, well. George didn't talk to us for like an entire month. It was weird, especially since we had gigs and stuff like that." John began to explain, his face darkening a little bit. He missed George so much. "It was _already rare_ when he actually was there. He... was really good, but he missed a lot of things. He said he was sick, or busy with his family, something like that. It pissed us off a few times, but when he didn't even answer our calls for a month, we really were angry _and_ worried."

Paul rubbed his eye and scratched his cheek again, softly shaking his head. "It was just so weird. I knew George for _years_. He wouldn't do that- not to me. We were brothers. And he loved John a lot too." And then, he seemed to space out again, so John kept going with the story by himself.

"We went to see his family, but they always found a way to... reject us. Especially his father. He seemed... always so pissed off. Not really with me- well, with me too, but more with Paul." John shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it. Paul pissed off a lot of people, actually, but he was just so weird with George's father- he never hated Paul before. He even liked him. He was acting as if Paul was his _own son_. And suddenly, Paul was a stranger- an _enemy_.

"We tried a lot of things, but nothing worked... We just knew George disappeared. And that was it."

"I..." Richard started, frowning, hesitant. He shouldn't say much- but he couldn't let them being ignorant. And he already knew George would agree. "He fought with his father. About _you_ , Paul. I really can't say more."

Paul frowned, crossed his arms on the table, and hid his mouth behind his forearm, mumbling mostly to himself. "About me? I didn't do anything wrong, what's the problem?" And he knew he couldn't have done something wrong ; after his meeting with George's father, he thought about everything he last did with George or with his family- and nothing was problematic. He was always _polite_ \- people loved him for that. He was doing his best to stay _nice_ , to talk _proper english_ like his mother always insisted for Mike and him to do so. He even kept calling them _'sir' and 'ma'am'_ even after all those years because he was just too _respectful_ to call them by their names like they asked him to do. He _helped_ his sister with one of her boyfriend, one time- a pure coincidence, but he still helped her and lended her his shoulder to cry for an entire afternoon. And he knew Harry and Peter liked him too. There really was nothing _wrong_ about him... but he was the reason why George disappeared, wasn't he? So what? **_What did he do?_**

He was too deep in his thoughts to notice that the conversation was still going between Ringo and John.

"So that's why his father seemed weird." John said, and Ringo nodded, biting his bottom lip. "So, George went with you, who knows where..." Richard didn't feel like saying where they lived so he stayed quiet. John got it and didn't ask for more. "Did he ever come back to Liverpool? Did he see his family, for example?"

Richard searched in his memories but it wasn't that hard to actually remember since it was the best period of his life. For once, he was _happy_ \- and all of that thanks to George. "No, no. Never. Well, I wasn't letting him go outside at first. Because I wasn't sure if he was here because I forced him or if he just had nowhere else to be." He shrugged softly.

"At _first_? So, you let him, after some time? Even though you were risking everything?" Paul finally decided to ignore the fact that he was the biggest problem. A soft, reassuring smile stretching his lips when he looked at the youngest.

"I did."

"Why? I mean, really, it's a bit stupid. He could have told the police or-"

Richard shook his head with a soft smile. "No, I let him a lot of... _openings_. Sometimes it wasn't really planned or anything. But he never ran away." He shrugged again. "But once, I was sick. Like I told you, I spent my childhood being sick, and George knew it."

John nodded. It was logic. If Paul was a sick kid, and, years later, he was sick again, he would be deadly worried. He would call everyone, only wanting the best for him. "So he was worried for you."

It seemed like talking about George was doing some good to Richard's mind. He softly smiled, almost fondly. Paul thought that it really was **love** at this point. He was glad that being gay was finally legal - what was the point to keep two people to love each other because of their gender? - because it would really piss him off to know that George and Richard wouldn't have the right to be together. He didn't even see them together, nor did he have George's point of view, but he knew that they both love each other deeply. Too bad Richard _actually killed people_. And too bad George disappeared again. It was almost a habit, now. Running away from his problems. But maybe he was too rude. He still didn't know why George left. And Richard didn't know too.

So what were they supposed to do? Paul had to _think_.

But the only answer he got was what Richard told them. _"Find George. Ask him yourself."_ How to find a man who knew how to hide himself?

"Yeah, he was worried."

Ringo's voice took him out of his thoughts. He blinked, and looked up at him, smiling reassuringly at John who seemed a bit worried because of how often Paul was spacing out in just ten minutes. He didn't like that. Paul was always _overthinking_ , and he always ended up sad or hurt when he shouldn't.

"So, what happened?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"We fought for an hour or so. He wanted to go outside to buy me medicines. I didn't think that he would tell the police... I was just thinking that the world was scary, and I didn't want him to go alone. He said he was fine. A _grown-up_. He could do it. And he did. He left." Richard's lips moved in a tight, frustrated line. He visibly still wasn't okay with George's choice. "But he came back, with groceries bags and he took care of me, like I did when he was ill."

John and Paul looked at him in silence. Paul felt uneasy, because he could imagine George being in love with Richard. He wasn't sure if it was okay but... but if his friend was happy with him, then he would never stop supporting them. Especially if it helped Richard and his little... _problems_.

"After that, I talked about his family. I asked if he wanted to go back, maybe just to see you two. He used to talk _a lot_ about you, or the band, or really stupid things." He fondly shook his head and, again, John saw that he was still deeply in love with George. He hoped people saw that too when he looked at Paul. "For example, Paul, I know about your htichhiking trips with George. Especially the _one where you burnt_ -"

"Oh, okay, _no_ , we're not going there." Paul quickly stopped him with a huge, fake smile.

Richard laughed again, and laughed harder when he saw John frowning and asking what was going on, visibly ignoring the little story.

"He was sitting on a battery thing, and he had zippers on his trousers, and he burnt his arse. George said he had the mark across his arse and he always laughed for hours when he was talking about that."

Paul blushed so hard he became all red, looking at his thighs and mumbling about how unfair life was and how George was a bastard. John began to laugh too, and soon, he was laughing with Richard and Paul was pouting, trying his best not to smile because they were idiots.

At this exact moment, he realized that he liked Richard. He had to see past the killer thing, but, well, Richard was nice and funny. And he loved George even more than them.

"I'm gonna kill George." Paul finally mumbled, but a soft smile appeared on his lips when the two men began to calm down.

"Yeah, well, if you find him, wait 'cause I have to talk a bit with him." Richard said, the smile slowly fading on his lips. "I still don't know why he left..."

He bit his bottom lip, Paul scratched his cheek, and John played with the buttons of his shirt, all lost in their thoughts. Why would George left? They were happy together, weren't they?

"A fight, maybe? Was he angry before he... left? And how did he even leave?" John finally asked with a frown.

"No, no, we didn't fight. We only fought when I... when I wasn't feeling _fine_. And he always calmed me down." He shrugged and looked away. "Well, he just disappeared during the night. The next morning, I just was... _alone_. Now that you made me think of it... I searched the entire house and he was nowhere but... but there was this piece of paper."

Paul arched his eyebrows. John never saw him arching them that much. That was a McCartney thing ; he was sure he couldn't do that himself. Even if he was deadly surprised.

"Couldn't you have say that _earlier_? It's **important**! So, what was he saying?"

Richard closed his eyes. He knew the words by heart, because he read the letter for hours and hours. He just needed to find the first word and he knew the other words would come out. "He said... he said he couldn't stay anymore. But he couldn't tell me why because he didn't want me to be all worried. He knew I wouldn't let him go but he had to. He said it was something very scary, but he had to do it by himself... without me. Then, he said that he wasn't coming back. And that I knew what I needed to do."

"Was he... _leaving you_?"

"No, no. He said that he loved me. More than he loved everyone else. He used to joke about sappy things but the letter was _sappy as hell_." He shook his head, smiling sadly. "Oh, and... I completely forgot but... He added that if I ever saw you two, I should say that, uhh... He said he had songs hidden in his old bedroom and, uh... I think it was lyrics? At the end."

"What lyrics?"

"The first sentence was _'Isn't it good Norwegian wood?'_ then... _'Here comes the sun, little darling'_ and... and... _'With tangerine trees and marmalade skies'_ and the last one was... er... _'All together now'_ , I think. Do you... know something?"

Paul and John looked at each other, lips parted and eyes widening slowly but surely. This could only mean one thing. And they both knew it.

**_They knew where George was._ **

Because of one memory. During a really boring summer, a few years earlier. When they wanted to see something that wasn't Liverpool. They wanted to go away, John mostly because of his aunt Mimi and the recent death of his mother, and George joked about going in the forest. He always loved nature.

Weirdly enough, Paul was okay with it. He even forced John to accept too, and with that, the three of them lived in the forest for a week end. It wasn't much, and it wasn't fun because they walked a lot. But it was beautiful and it truly brought them closer. They sang songs and wrote songs. It was all about music and friendship.

Like Norvegian Wood, Here Comes the Sun - a George's song! It was so rare -, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and All Together Now.

George was where they were years ago.

"Lads?" Richard asked, frowning, not understanding what was happening. The words George let for them seemed to bring back a memory or at least something familiar. But what? And... maybe it would help them find George. Richard wanted them to find George. He had to know if... if he was still alive. And if he was, why did he leave him? Everything seemed fine the day before his disappearance.

"We..." Paul tried, slowly turning around to look at Richard. "We just... _remembered_ something."

He couldn't say it out loud. Just to be sure... Just because they were recorded. He had to talk about that later with John, too.

Because the more he was thinking about it, the more he knew that he couldn't let the police know about George and Richard.

When did things turn like that? He wasn't supposed to _help_ Richard. He was a _murderer_. He **killed** people. Too many people. He broke families, he broke them, he broke their minds.

But Paul wanted him to go back to George. He wanted them to be happy. And it wouldn't be bad ; Richard would stop killing. George was the only one with that power, wasn't he?

He couldn't lie ; it was a bit scary to know that George was with someone like that... but everything went fine before, right?

And he heard Richard. He knew Richard wouldn't hurt George. It would be worse than hurting himself. It would be like killing himself. He wouldn't do it. Even if he was insane and crazy, George was the only person that mattered for him, he wouldn't let him go... or die.

But he couldn't say it out loud. Richard had to _read_ him. He knew how to do that, he just had to... make him understand.

"What? Do you..." Richard said again, frowning even more. Then, his eyes slid down Paul's face and finally John's. "Oh, so you..."

John nodded, trying to encourage him. "Yeah we... **_know_**... it was some nice lyrics." He insisted on the 'know' and bit his bottom lip.

"It sounds so..?" This time, Ringo tilted his head on the side. "Reminded you of somethin', I guess?"

"Yeah... Just a... summer with Georgie." Paul softly said with an excited yet nervous grin. "We went to this really _fab place_. It was so nice."

"He loved it _so much_." John added, nodding at Paul's words.

Richard's eyes widened just a little bit and his lips stretched into one really bright smile. He got it. "Oh, yeah?"

Paul squirmed in his seat. George had to be there. They just had to look if there was a house somewhere in the forest... and it would obviously be George. He could still remember where they stopped for many nights. He could find the spot again. George was probably... living there.

He felt very excited to actually know that they had a clue. They knew it. And George knew they would eventually know Richard... the bastard had planned all of this. How did he even know that they would meet, at some point?

"Well, you should probably go, it's getting late, innit?" Richard said with a smirk when he saw how Paul looked like he couldn't stop moving.

They both looked at him, and broke into nervous smiles. John stood up first. "Yeah. It's already time to go back so... see you. We'll have _lots_ of things to talk about, next time."

Richard chuckled and the guard went to grab his arm, forcing him to stand up. He didn't even seem to notice it. "Yeah, I sure hope so."

And with that, they got out of the prison, and got in the car.

As always, it was silent, both of them thinking about everything they knew. And they could finally fix the holes in the story. Because they _knew where George was_. They both chose not to think about the fact that he might still be _dead_. You can leave a letter... and disappear after it. He could have died of many, many things in between. It had been a long time since he left Ringo. _Three years already_.

When they finally both fell on the couch, Paul on top of John, they shared the same oxygen for a few seconds, looking at each other and enjoying the warmth of the other. And then, Paul broke the silence. " _We know._ " He said, his voice a little bit too high, not quite believing it yet.

John nervously laughed, and put a hand on his own eyes. Then, he kissed Paul's forehead and hugged him tightly. "Yeah, we do, Paulie. _We did it_."

Paul could already feel how tear filled his eyes up. He didn't try to refrain them and, instead, let them roll down his face, pressing his chest against John's chest and listening to his fast heartbeat. John softly played with his hair, closing his eyes.

"We finally have answers - and we'll have all of them soon. We did it, Paulie. We're gonna learn the _entire truth._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks everyone for the lovely support!   
> I hope you liked this part?   
> Richard finally talked a little bit about George and his disappearance! And Paul and John know where he might be.   
> I'm a bit late for this one, but I also wrote the next chapter which is... half-way done. So it definitely will be out soon.
> 
> Anyways, so, after this one, there'll be a chapter when you'll learn E V E R Y T H I N G. For real.  
> Then, it'll be a chapter in two parts again, I think. Maybe even in three parts. After that, a chapter a bit special, and then, I think it'll be the last one.  
> So, if you know how to count, just 6 more chapters and it'll be the end!  
> Buuuut don't worry. I might write a sequel. Or two. I have some ideas.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you still like the fic, and I hope I'll see you around!  
> Don't hesitate to let kudos, comments and everything. I read all of them and answer to all of them. It's really nice and cool! Thank you, again!


	6. It makes me wonder. (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the truth.

John drove this time, because Paul kept shaking. His hands couldn't hold something for a long time. He was already on the verge of crying. After months and months of trying to find him, they did find George. And they knew, all thanks to Richard. He felt so relieved but he was so, _so_ scared. He couldn't believe that after, what? _Four years?_ Yes. George disappeared for **four years**. They met Richard the year before, and, now, they were about to know the entire truth. Not only from Richard's point of view. And maybe George would go back with them.

John, on the other hand, was just slightly worried. He didn't know why... no, he had no idea why, but he felt like something would go wrong. Everything was going too well. He knew it. Something had to go wrong ; his life was like that. Everytime something good happened, awful things then came. Like his mother's come back in his life... and her death. His entire life was this **endless loop of sadness and despair.**

He parked in front of a cottage. For twenty minutes, they drove through a forest. They knew this forest ; it was exactly the _same_. They could still remember this summer with George. When they went out of their old car, Paul took his time to look around.

The cottage was lost deep inside the forest, but the place seemed warm, cosy... _welcoming_. He suddenly felt so calm, so relaxed. He felt like looking at the sky and the trees all day long, lying there with John who would played a nice, calm song. He knew it was _cliché_ , but it sounded like a great idea. The birds were happily singing around them, flying above their heads. There was no cars, no passengers, nothing, nobody.

They both knew George craved for a calm, _peaceful_ life - especially when he started to grow up, when he let go of his childish habits. They guessed he finally decided to do it.

John took Paul's hand. He didn't smile, but his eyes were warm. "Come on. We're not gonna make him wait."

Paul just nodded and followed him around the house. George would probably be in his garden, since he was especially in love with flowers. Now, Paul wondered if he really had a garden, when he lived in a forest. But he didn't say anything and just followed John around the house.

There was, indeed, a garden. If this was the right name. Behind the house, there was all kind of flowers. They were organized in a very special, harmonious way, and there was a small path in the middle, leading somewhere they had no idea.

"Well, he sure is productive." John stated, and followed the path with a frown.

Then, a arch appeared, very long - something like 10 meters. Mostly roses above them. They walked in silence, just looking around them in awe. Everything seemed surreal. The leaves sometimes caressed their arms, or their cheeks, but they stayed quiet, as if they were afraid to break the _magic_.

When it stopped, the first thing they saw was the river in the background, far away - but it was still there. They could hear the sound of the small waves from here, a calm, relaxing noise, not an overwhelming one.

And on their left, there was a huge, old tree ; under it, a swing, a bench and two old wooden chairs around it. On the bench was sitting _George_ , with a guitar on his lap.

His hair were longer than they usually were. He had a man bun, dark locks escaping it when they were too short, just lazily resting agains his clavicles. He had a beard ; George had a beard. When John and Paul knew him, the lad was always perfectly shaved and he had a mop top. Just like them. It was weird to see him like that.

He was wearing a large, light blue shirt and the sleeves were rolled up. His blue jeans were ripped near his knee and a little bit dirty. He had no shoes, nor socks.

And he was playing, a dark lock of hair moving against his temple at every move.

Paul knew the song.

Stairway To Heaven. Led Zeppelin.

He bought the record a few months ago and John never complained when Paul put it on after a long day of work.

The song was soft, pure, _innocent_. George's long fingers were picking at the strings of his spanish guitar with tenderness, almost flying on them. George wasn't a fast guitarist ; but he was a really good one. He was always following the rhythm, never missing or failing a chord. They were always impressed. And they could always easily see how _in love_ with music he was.

_"There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold_

_And she's buying a stairway to heaven..."_

He started to sing, and Paul almost lost it. His eyes filled up with tears. It sounded so pure. So, so pure.

_"When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed_

_With a word she can get what she came for._

_Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven..."_

John's shaky fingers touched Paul's and he softly took his hand. Paul looked up at him. The eldest seemed close to tears too. He turned his stare back on George and swallowed the knot forming in his throat. He quietly sniffed.

George looked up, not even frowning in surprise. His dark eyes stopped on his friends, as if he already knew they would be there, while he was still playing and softly singing, staring at them with calm, tender eyes.

_"There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure_

_'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings._

_In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,_

_Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.."_

And then, he started strumming and goosebumps appeared on Paul's skin, a shiver running down his entire spine a few times. He felt weak in the knees but didn't dare move. He was scared that if he did, George would disappear. Like a dream. Like his dreams. His nightmares.

_"Ooh, it makes me wonder,_

_Ooh, it makes me wonder..."_

And they stayed like this through the entire song. Paul and John stayed completely quiet, oftenly forced to remember themselves that they needed to breathe. George just stared at them with the same, calm expression.

His hand stopped moving when the song ended and he closed his mouth. He put the guitar against the tree and slowly stood up.

"'Ello." He casually said while walking closer, as if he never left. As if he saw them a week ago to practice for a future gig. But he did disappear.

Paul thought he would faint right there. He blinked a few times, trying to refrain the tears, but his sight stayed all blurry. Yet, he still managed to see George, to see him clearly. Maybe he was scared that he would go away if he couldn't see him.

"G- _George_.." He softly said, and the next thing he knew, he threw his arms around the man, holding him tightly against his chest.

George stayed quiet, but he put his arms around Paul too, closing his eyes for a few seconds. It was very _unusual_ for them ; back in Liverpool, hugging another bloke was just so weird. But they hadn't see each other for four years. Four entire years. Paul thought George was dead. But he wasn't. He was _alive_ , against him, _breathing_. And it felt nice to hug him.

"I'm here." George softly said, and he kissed his forehead with a concerned look.

But he eventually stepped back and looked at John. John looked lost, angry, sad and happy at the same time. He had every right to be. George just smirked and pulled him into a hug too. John hugged him back with strength, squeezing him between his arms. George didn't complain about it - he even missed it.

Nobody talked for a few minutes, and when George stepped back, they both looked at him, not quite knowing what to say or where to start. They both had _so much_ to say, _so much_ to ask.

"Let's just sit. We have the entire day, lads." And George moved to sit down in one wooden chair.

Paul sat down on the bench ; John took the last chair, facing George. Once again, they were silent, just too... shocked to actually realize it. George was there. They touched him. He was real. He was breathing. He was there. And he was alive.

"So, you met Richard?" Again, the youngest was the one who broke the silence, tilting his head on the side and brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.

"We did. He told us... he told us a lot of things." John answered, frowning a little bit. "He told us everythin'.."

"Yeah. I always told him to be honest. It's important."

It looked like a normal discussion for George ; when it clearly wasn't for the two others.

"G-George, why- _why_..." Paul cleared his throat, trying to stop the wave of feelings that were going through his body. "Why- you could have- said something. Just... anything!"

" **I loved you.** "

Paul, who was about to keep going on an entire lecture of how worried they were - of how he spent days and days crying with John, stopped moving. He frowned, arched an eyebrow.

"What? Yeah, I love you too, but-"

"I really loved you, Paul. Not in a _friendly_ way."

It took long minutes for Paul to understand what he was saying. John watched quietly, frowning curiously. When Paul's mouth fell open, George knew he finally began to understand.

"I loved you too much. It was killin' me. You were the straightest dude in the entire world, Paul." He shook his head with a soft smile. "Guess I was too scared to see the truth."

Paul squirmed and gave John a small look. John stayed quiet. Strangely, he wasn't jealous. He felt so at peace because of the place, he just couldn't be. And it was George. The thought of having him here too was enough to calm him down completely.

" _Why_ \- why didn't you- you could have- _I'm not_ \- I would never..." Paul clumsily tried.

"I know, Paul. I know. But I couldn't risk it, no way. I thought that you would tell John about it, and I was afraid you would just... both kick me out of your lives. Our friendship was more important than my feelings."

"But-"

"It became unbearable, quickly. I couldn't... I felt... down all the time, because I knew it was impossible. Then, I noticed how John and you were actin' with each other. And I think somewhere, I understood it."

Paul looked awfully lost, almost hurt. He was hurt. He wished George talked about it. He knew he used to be... all bitchy, but he certainly wasn't with them. Of course, he used to look down on George, but not enough to push him away or ruin his life and certainly not for loving him. He wasn't like that.

"I told my family about how I was feelin'. I told them I liked you. I don't remember why, but it was during an argument. They probably pushed me over the edge. I was always moody and angry because my parents just- they never really cared about me. My family was big, and I just... was _there_." He shrugged and bit his thumbnail. "I probably let it slip in the discussion. My family changed over the night. Nobody was looking at me ; they were even avoiding me. I thought they would change their minds in a few days or weeks. But it just got _worse_."

"Right when you stopped hangin' out with us, right?" John asked and George nodded.

"I felt awful. I thought it would be okay. I mean- they were my family. Everything would be okay with time. But it... _didn't_. The pictures of me, you kno', the one in the livin' room? One day, they disappeared. Then, I heard them talking about how impossible it was. Me, being ' _ill_ '. My mother was crying every time. And my father... He never missed the chance to insult me. At some point, he'd even say it right to my face when I'd come out of my room."

Paul hugged his legs, worry clearly visible on his face. He bit his bottom lip, scratched his cheek with his middle finger, ran his hand through his hair. He didn't know things were like that. He never knew. George kept all of that in his skinny body, he kept it hidden in himself... and Paul never suspected it.

"We... had no idea.." He softly whispered, and George sighed.

"I know. I kept quiet. I barely talked to anyone. I'd answer to the phone, sometimes, and mostly when it was you. I'd say something like _"Oh no I'm sick today" or "Oh I can't, family reunion, you know what it's like"_ and it'd do the job." His cheeks were turning pink, and he looked at his fingers, ashamed. He looked young again. The George they knew. "My father began to drink. I stole cigarettes at the shop near my house, and I kept smoking, smoking and smoking. Sometimes, I stole my father's alcohol just to forget everything, just for a few hours. It felt good."

He closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose. He didn't look like he liked talking about it. Paul and John could get why so they stayed quiet, deciding to let him finish it quickly.

"One day, my brothers were out with Mum and Lou', and my father was drunk. I needed a smoke. Really badly. So I tried to leave the house quietly, but my father caught me before I had the chance to get to the door."

John could see how he clenched his fists. Then, he took a long breath and rolled his right sleeve a little bit more.

There was a big scar on his bicep. It was visible, especially since he was a little bit tanner than before. Paul let out a gasp and John's entire face fell. He took his glasses and put them on. It didn't look better, clearly not. The scar wasn't beautiful. It was _too big, too bright._

"You must be kiddin'. Tell me it's just a joke or-or somethin'..." Paul's voice came out in a high-pitched note and George just shook his head.

"No. He went wild. It was awful, really, and I couldn't do a thing because.. it's stupid but he's still _my father_. I couldn't hit him back. I just tried to protect myself. My family came back when I was barely _conscious_. I managed to run away and I ran and ran. It was dark and I think I wasn't... okay. I don't even know how I still managed to walk but I ended up in the forest near town."

"This... is when you met Ringo?" John carefully asked, unsure.

"He didn't talk about it? Yeah. We met there. He had blood on him but I just felt so... so... dead. Empty. I know I should have run away but my... mind just wasn't working right. I think he threatened me or somethin' but I was too far away... I wasn't there. He bought me back to his flat. He told me he only moved in a few days ago and that we could finally had fun. I just hoped it meant that he would kill me."

George was always blunt. Paul knew it better than anyone. But hearing him talking like that about his own death was... awful. He kept shivering, holding his legs closer and closer and hiding his face behind his knees. He felt so useless, so stupid. His best friend went through all of that... and he had no idea. No fucking idea.

"The rest is history. I ended up living with him and he took care of me wounds. And I fell in love _again_."

John and Paul were speechless. What could they say? In just, what, fifteen minutes, they met their supposed dead friend, learned that he was in love with Paul, that he came out to his family, almost died, and fell in love with a serial killer. It was _too much_.

"I think we need a minute." John absentmindedly said, looking at the emptiness between him and George. His voice was deep but shaking.

The youngest just nodded. "I'm gonna make some tea, then. Take your time." He said and stood up, disappearing quickly. He could understand that it was a lot to accept, of course. And he wouldn't force them to take it all in just a few minutes. He still had a lot of things to say. _Things even more awful_.

But John and Paul didn't talk at first, just staring at nothing or closing their eyes.

Paul felt hurt. _So_ hurt. And so _disgusted_ with himself. Why was he so blind? _How?_ He should have **seen** it. He should have **guessed** it.

Maybe he just tried to _avoid_ the truth. Maybe, somewhere, in his mind, he already knew what was happening, but he rejected the idea, because it was too much. It was impossible, wasn't it? It wasn't _right_ , and it was too unfair to believe that George could have lived something that bad.

And yet, he did. _It was the truth._

And Paul never even thought _seriously_ about it. He never stopped to take a minute and think "well maybe George had a huge fight with his dad about me". He never thought about connecting things. The sudden hatred his father hold against him, the way George just disappeared, how his entire family was avoiding them - and especially Paul. Even when Richard told them about this fight, he couldn't really believe it. He hoped he was wrong. But Paul was the one in the wrong since the beginning.

But how he wished George went to see him first. Just to _talk_. He was still living with his father and his brother at the time, but he moved in with John just a couple of months later. George could have lived with them. He would have been protected.

But once again, Paul was only thinking about himself, right? George wouldn't have liked that. Living with the guy he loved and his boyfriend? That would be a _bad idea_ , wouldn't it? He quietly sighed, biting his bottom lip a little bit too hard.

"I just... don't _get it_." He mumbled, rubbing his temples, as if it could ease his mind. But nothing could, at this point.

John only replied by a small groan. Paul couldn't blame him ; he was probably just like him. Lost, hurt, overwhelmed by his own feelings and thoughts. Paul watched his face, impressed by how many feelings he expressed that way. No matter what, Paul could always read John's face. He couldn't _hide_ it. He watched him go from sad to hurt, and then he was angry. Then pissed off and disgusted.

Suddenly, he stood up, and started walking around, frowning at the ground. "I can't _believe_ it. His **bloody father** , he..!" He finally looked up and his eyes met Paul's. It was enough to stop him. They just stared at each other for a minute, calming their minds down just like that. They knew they both needed each other.

John finally moved to sit down next to Paul, taking his hand between his, absentmindedly caressing it with his thumb, still frowning a little bit. He leaned closer and rested his forehead against Paul's. "It's gonna be okay, Paulie."

Paul stayed quiet, because all he was thinking was awfully negative. But he couldn't be negative. If he started like that... No, that was a bad idea ; if he focused long enough on John's breathing, he could _almost_ think that everything was okay.

"Come on, Paul. George must be waitin' for us. Again. Bad habit, right?" He weakly smiled and took Paul's hand, standing up. Paul followed him, staring at their feet because he felt like the world might _eat_ him if he dared to look up. Everything became **so** different with just a conversation. George, his baby brother, his best friend since he was something like twelve... So many things happened to him, and the thought didn't even cross his mind, not even _once_. He never thought that he loved him, that he ended up badly hurt... He never thought about all of that. He felt like a _kid_ , and the world seemed very scary suddenly, because people, out there, people he knew, didn't think twice about hurting George. And even if George was a little twat sometimes, even if Paul was really pissed off sometimes... he would have never gone this far. And it was scary to think that his own father didn't hesitate.

Everytime he thought he was able to _understand_ the world, something happened and he felt like a child again. Discovering everything again just with a new point of view. He disliked that. But he knew it was how life was supposed to be.

"Paul, stop thinkin' tha' much, love, please? For me. It's not _good_."

Paul looked up at John, surprised. His boyfriend was looking at him, frowning and visibly worried. Paul didn't even notice that they stopped walking. He was about to say that he wasn't overthinking like John always said, but he lost himself in the brown sea of John's eyes. His mind went blank again and he couldn't remember what he was about to say ; or what he thought earlier. John was the only one who had this effect on him ; he found it amazing.

"Lovely. Now, come here. I think George actually did your favorite tea, love. D'you smell it?"

Paul smiled softly and followed John inside, trying his best not to think of how afraid he actually was.

The house looked comfortable and warm. The wooden walls were covered with paintings and some polaroids. Paul could see George's family, smiling. There were some pictures of George and Paul when they were young, then some of Paul, John and George... And then, a serie of close-up. A cigarette held by a hand covered in rings. A blue eye. The naked back of someone who was putting socks on. **Obviously Richard.**

"Oh, you're there? Great. The couch is **really** comfortable - I thought about you, John, when we bought it. I think you're gonna _love_ it."

John automatically turned around. George was standing behind them with a tray and hot cups of tea. He smiled at them and started to walk towards the living room. They both followed him, John quickly moved and almost threw himself on the couch. It was, indeed, a _very_ comfortable couch.

Paul sat down next to him and George decided to sit down on the big sofa next to the couch, visibly satisfied by that. Just a second after that, a soft mewl was heard, and a black, fluffy head appeared from behind him, curiously looking at the strangers. Then, the cat mewled again and gently bit George because the sofa _visibly wasn't George's_.

"Is that a- a cat?" Paul asked, frowning. He seemed a bit surprised.

"Yeah. I found her in the forest... someone probably let her there, I don't really know, but I took her. Anna, c'm'here, sweetie. It's John and Paul, remember? She always freezes because of the big photo I have in me room."

John smiled softly when George took Anna on his lap. Everybody knew John had a soft spot for cats. He _loved_ cats. He even forced Paul to get cats - forced was a big word, because Paul loved their cats even more than John did... and they had six cats, now. _Jesus, Salt, Pepper, Mimi, Minor, Major_. But it was already a lot for Paul, and even though John did want more, he was already happy with six cats - and a lovely boyfriend. "The big photo?" Paul asked again, smiling when he saw how John seemed happy.

"Oh yeah. I have this... This big photography of us in me bedroom and she always gets confused about it. Pretty funny. Anna, _come on_ , go see John."

Anna mewled in answer and jumped on the couch, eyeing John. Carefully, she sniffed his hand. John was about to open it when she started to bite his fingers. "Oi, Harrison, she's a wild one!"

"She always does that. She won't hurt you, tho', don't worry. She's nice, aren't ya, An'?" Anna, of course, didn't answer but she eventually decided to let go of John's fingers and, instead, went to lie down between him and Paul, visibly satisfied.

"Well, that was a _surprise_. Do you have other surprises?" Paul jokingly said, softly caressing the kitten.

"Err, I _do_ have other surprises for you. A nice one and a... and _another one_." They both looked up in surprise again. George just smirked, but he seemed a bit anxious. "I have a dog, too. _Elvis_. I don't really know where he is, right now, tho'. Probably playin' in the garden."

"A cat **and** a dog! What a nice life." John absentmindedly commented with a smile. He was glad George wasn't completely alone there.

George just smiled and looked at the door behind him. He whistled a tune and within a few seconds, they could hear noises. Next thing they knew, a big, brown labrador was running, barking happily. He quickly put his paws on George's knees, bending his head with pleading eyes. George rolled his eyes but caressed him, smiling more when Anna mewled at Elvis' bark.

"That's Elvis. He's a bit _clumsy_ but he's really nice. Not sure if he can actually _protect_ the house, but he's lovely, isn't he?" John hummed his approval and chuckled when Elvis turned his head to watch them, visibly just noticing them. Then, he put his paws back down on the floor and barked again, but couldn't resist when John extended his hand. He went automatically on the couch too, happy to receive attention from strangers. Paul smiled and kissed the dog's head.

But he wasn't as sensitive as John was, so he looked up at George and raised an eyebrow. "Was that the nice surprise? Indeed, a _very lovely_ one. What's the other one?"

George stayed silent for a few seconds. He quietly whistled another tune, and Elvis disappeared, probably going in the kitchen. John found very interesting how George used whistles as orders. A very Georgesque thing to do. Creative and clever. Anna moved to lie down on Paul's lap, against his stomach.

George ran a hand through his hair and tiredly looked up to meet their curious eyes. Those eyes. He knew them so well he could tell every thoughts crossing their minds. He wasn't really sure if it was a good thing at the moment. But they never were able to tell what was on his mind, because, sadly, George was the invisible one, the one nobody noticed. It was the truth ; but he wondered if they could read on his face too. Maybe he wasn't noticed by strangers, but Paul and John? Were they able to see things on his face?

_He wished Richard was there_

"I'm sick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM  
> First part of this chapter is done.  
> What a horrible cliffhanger. WHAT KIND OF AWFUL PERSON AM I??  
> I'm really sorry. The next one should be out pretty soon, I think. I don't quiiite know. But I'll do my best! I go back to school in a few days (the 4th ugh) but it's not gonna be a problem.... for now. i don't think so, anyway.  
> I hope you liked it?? It's in my computer since two months, I was SO excited to write it!! But it was too long for just a chapter so I cut it in two parts too.   
> aNYGAY  
> I hope I'll see you around! Don't hesitate to comment, blabla kudos blablabla you already probably know what to do ahah.  
> Don't hesitate to be wild, I'm not cold, I'm not mean eheh, I'll answer you with pleasure!  
> A bientôt!


	7. It makes me wonder. (part two)

Paul blinked, tilting his head on the side. He held his cup tighter, took a long sip. Anna moved a little bit on his lap and he absentmindedly caressed her, ignoring the fact that she softly bit his finger. "Sick?" He repeated, frowning more and more.

George's face seemed suddenly pretty pale, and he looked like he had lost some weight, too; his clothes looked a bit too big on him. It reminded Paul of the old times when he would use Harry or Peter's clothes. It always looked weird on him. But now, he looked even skinnier than usual. With George, it was alarming. Paul knew him. George ate a lot, pretty often, and since he was already skinny, everyone wanted him to eat more, obviously worried. But it was how George was built and Paul never insisted on it. He knew it could make George angry - and he could understand it. It was like the comments on Paul's girlish features. He couldn't help it.

But still, Paul had never seen him being that skinny. It worried him a bit. "You're sick?" He said again when a few more seconds passed.

This time, George looked up. He licked his lips, and his fangs stopped on his bottom lip, easily breaking the skin. Paul knew he would bleed a little bit if he kept doing it. But it didn't seem really important next to George's words. "Around the time when I left Ringo, I started to feel weird. Physically weird. I felt... bad. So, I went to the hospital, I was a bit afraid because it was the first time I was feeling like that. I didn't tell Ringo, just in case it wasn't important. He didn't need to worry about me, you see." He shook his head and closed his eyes for a second, only opening them when a bark was heard. Elvis, his brown labrador, came in the living room and jumped on George's lap, who just got time to lift his cup above his head. He seemed used to it, and just patted his dog.

"What was it? What did you have?" John asked with a frown, visibly a bit lost.

"There was this... lump in my neck. I was diagnosed with throat cancer and they gave me a few days to... think about it. I knew I had to get rid of it, and the doctors said it was just a warning, not really dangerous; but I had to get it removed fast."

Paul's eyes widened and he squeezed his cup, drinking quickly his tea. Then, he put it back on the coffee table and took Anna, hugging her. She just purred in answer and licked his cheek before going back to sleep in his arms. "That's why you left Ringo?"

George slowly nodded, his eyes firmly fixed on Elvis' head. "Yeah. I wasn't sure how long it would take and I needed to... do it by myself. The doctors said it was still risky and I knew I had to... go often. And we couldn't - not with Richard. It was dangerous for him to go out, we never knew if someone knew or if something could be used by the police, so we avoided going out. The hospital was too dangerous for him. So I decided that I had to do it alone. So, yeah. They removed the lump." He shrugged and smiled apologetically at Elvis who groaned because of the movement. "Sometimes, if you say the word cancer' everybody automatically thinks it will end in misery, but it's not always the case. I was very lucky because it didn't go anywhere - all it was was a little red mark on my neck."

Paul looked at Anna, avoiding John's and George's stares. Even though he knew George was right - a lot of people actually survived cancer - it just reminded him so much of his own mother, who died when he was just a teenager, from breast cancer. She died because of the operation they tried in order to save her from it- and hearing that George went through it too was terrifying, even though he knew he survived.

"Paul..." It was John's voice. He looked up, blinked, frowned, and finally nervously chuckled when he noticed that they both looked at him, worry written all over their faces.

"Sorry, I just-... I was lost in my thoughts. Sorry." He offered them a small smile, even though he saw that they both already knew what his thoughts were about. They knew it was a sensitive topic. John knew it because they shared the same awful past; the loss of their mothers. They talked about it a lot, and cried together a lot. George knew it because he was Paul's oldest friend. He was around when Mary died. He was here for Paul at the time. Paul stayed quiet about it, but George saw past that and did his best to cheer him up. He played the guitar with him, taught him some new songs, sang for him when he wasn't feeling like doing anything. George had been one hell of a good friend.

"It's nowhere near... It's not like Mary. Nothing you should worry about, right, Geo?" John said, after leaving a small kiss on Paul's forehead. He turned to look at George.

George didn't answer, staring at Elvis as if he was the most interesting thing here.

John frowned more and cocked his head on the side. "George? It's not- you-... George?"

The youngest took a long, shaky breath. Paul noticed for the first time how his fingers were shaking around the cup he was holding. He put it down too, afraid he might break it, probably, and buried his finger into Elvis' fur. "W-well, after that, I moved here. I knew the guy who lived there, and he was okay to leave it to me. Well, we lived together, but he died and- and he let me the house." He shrugged to say that it was okay. He didn't know the man that well anyways. "I did a lot of tests, and they figured that the cancer was gone. I got it purely from smoking, really. I stopped, by the way."

Paul shook his head with a sad laugh. "You smoked just as much as we did. Life is so, so bloody unfair." He mumbled and didn't even smile when John squeezed his shoulder - John wondered if he even felt it. He wasn't really sure. Paul looked like he was seconds ago from breaking.

John looked back at George, just watching him for a minute. He looked weak - he looked tired. He suddenly found himself agreeing with Paul - life was so unfair. George was young. And life had been so rough for him. He hoped things were easier. He deserved a calm, a peaceful life like he always dreamed of. "How- how did you even pay for it? It was probably expensive, no?"

George darkly laughed, looking at the trees outside, knowing it was enough to find peace in his mind. He didn't want to tell everything just now. He needed to take things slow. "First, I used everything I had... Which wasn't really a lot. The money from the gigs we did in Liverpool. Then, I- I called Harry and Peter. I couldn't do it all alone, finally. I told them about it and they sent me money. They said they weren't okay with what our father did - I guess they wanted to apologize like that. I hated it, really. Not being able to do all of it by myself. But it wasn't a lot of money anyways, really. And they're both a bit famous in their town. Still, I feel a bit bad about it."

"You shouldn't. I'm sure they wanted to help. Especially after... everything. They're not stupid. They don't want to lose you. They love you - they would probably give everything to help." Paul said, looking at the emptiness in front of him. John wondered if he actually said that, thinking that he wished he could have given Mary everything he had to save her.

"If only we knew... We could- we should.." John started, visibly affected by the fact that they didn't help. George smiled and shook his head.

"No, it's okay. It's fine. I already was a bit of a burden for you." John tried to answer, probably ready to argue with him about the fact that, no, he wasn't a burden. George just shook his head at him and softly told Elvis to go somewhere else. The dog jumped off and ran outside. George stood up and put a Carl Perkins' record in his record player.

He went to sit back down and closed his eyes, just listening, the two others doing the same. It allowed them to forget just for a moment everything that happened earlier. They all needed a moment to calm down a little bit. "Richard loves this one too. We spent days playing music together - and listening to some music the rest of the time. Great days, they were."

Nobody answered. They just vaguely hummed in agreement.

John thought that Richard was going to be more than happy. They knew a lot of things - and they knew that George was, indeed, very alive. He couldn't imagine what would be his reaction, though. He could never know with someone like him. He always had unexpected words and thoughts. Maybe he would be happy - maybe he would be angry. John thought he would be happy, but he wasn't sure. Knowing that George was alive should be enough to cheer him up.

"I'm dying."

John and Paul opened their eyes to look at George, both frowning. At first, John wondered if he actually heard him right. He was too deeply lost in his thoughts; maybe he imagined it. But Paul heard it too, because he answered, pretty loudly. "What the hell?"

George opened his eyes too, but kept them on his hands, thinking that they didn't need to have his dark eyes on them too. "I'm dying." He said again, in a calm, soft voice. "I'm dying, I'm gonna die."

Anna left Paul's lap when he started to shake. He frowned, his eyes already filling up with tears - John was in the same state, his face hesitating between red and green. Then, Paul talked again. "Wh- What are you talking about, Georgie?"

George wasn't shocked by it, not anymore; he accepted it. But he knew it was hard for them. He tried his best not to be too blunt; but he was like that no matter what, and they both knew it anyway. "The cancer is back. It's stronger this time."

John shook his head and nervously chuckled. "But there must be som-somethin'. Surgeries and stuff like that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah.." The youngest frowned a little bit and shrugged. "But it's very expensive and they're not all safe and sure. I don't have a lot of money left; Richard is... well, he can't help. And I'm not gonna ask people if it'll come back in two years. I did it once... no need to do it again."

"But George, you- you..." Paul's voice was shaking so much he had to take a long breath to calm down. His bottom lip was still shaking when he talked again, but he seemed a little bit calmer. "You have to- you're gonna.. you can't..."

George looked at his tea, drank what was left, and put the cup down on the table. Then, he stood up, and sit down on the table, just in front of Paul. Anna jumped off him, unhappy, and disappeared in George's bedroom. "Look, Paul... It's gonna be hard to hear it but..." He extended his hands and cupped his round cheeks, sadly kissing his forehead, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. "It's not only my throat, now. I have lung cancer too- and a brain tumour. It's impossible for me to pay-"

"But we can, I'm sure we can find a way- me dad can help too and Mike wouldn't mind, he likes you a lot and maybe-"

George shook his head, frowning, his hand going to rest on John's knee, the other on Paul's thigh. He knew they both needed to feel that he was here - for now at least. John felt like the air disappeared from his body - he couldn't talk. He felt overwhelmed; and he knew that if he opened his mouth, he would cry. Because he knew what George was saying. He knew what was happening. He really was always right, wasn't it? The shitty loop was back again. With a strange noise, close to a broken moan, he took George's hand in his.

"I don't want that. I don't want everyone to give money for somethin' that won't work."

"But at least you would... try!" Paul desperately tried, tears starting to roll down his cheeks; he couldn't hold them back anymore. He couldn't believe it; he was so happy to finally be with George again, and- and George was...

"It's not like that, Paulie... Please, try to understand me. I'm tired. Surgeries, medicines, hospitals, trying and trying and trying. I tried, I really did."

"George.." John's weak voice made him look so small. George hated doing that. But he wanted to be honest with them. They deserved it. And he had to tell them himself. No matter how hard it was; for them and for him.

He went to sit down between them, and, without a word, he put his arms around both of them. It was enough to break the walls; John began to cry too, and they both moved closer, hiding their faces in the crook of George's neck, sobbing quietly. George held them, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against John's head, caressing Paul's back. Carl Perkins was still singing in the background, but it felt like a bubble was surrounding them; it was just them, just like a few years ago, when everything was fine.

"You can't... leave us, Geo- you can't, that's- no..." John began to mumble, holding onto him as if he wouldn't disappear if he could still feel him. George only vaguely saw him that weak when his mother - his real mother - died. John was the kind of man who only knew loss and sadness. His life was stained by many deaths, and George knew he cried himself to sleep, sometimes. Maybe not anymore, because he was sleeping with Paul, and Paul was there to take care of him when he was feeling down. But he did. George appeared in his life at the worst time; John lived with his aunt, which was a bit weird, because George got to know his real mother, Julia. At the time, he didn't quite understand and asked Paul about it. That's how he learned everything about John's childhood.

When he was young, his parents got into a fight, because his father wanted to take him far away. They asked the little boy he was to choose between them; but could he? George couldn't remember everything right, but he knew that, at some point, Mimi, Julia's sister, got in, and took the boy. She raised him and loved him like her very own son, with her husband, George. But George eventually died when John grew up, and Julia got back into his life after that. Around a year later, George met John, all thanks to Paul. And six months after, Julia died. They all went to her funerals but Paul was the one who held John into his arms, who allowed him to cry his heart out. George wasn't close enough to do that, and he was sure John didn't like him much at first. Because he was young.

After that, they became friends, and George learned by himself that John's childhood was a very sensitive topic. If he could play it cool at first, as if it wasn't a problem to talk about it, he always ended up pissed off. George decided not to bring it if he wasn't forced to. It worked well, and they became best friends. They had a small group of friends, mostly composed of John's older friends. They knew Peter, Stuart, all of his friends. It was fun, they were always out or playing music together. George liked it, and he even liked John's friends. They were funny. He always wondered who Stuart was for John, though. John seemed to like him so much.

And Stuart died too.

That was John's life. When he began to love someone too much, Death would appear with an amused smirk.

And now it was happening to George. George felt sad to know that he couldn't do anything about it.

He pressed a kiss on top of his head and held them tighter.

"It's alright, Johnny. I'm ready for it. It's... life. I'm not scared, so please, don't be sad."

He only grimaced when Paul softly hit his shoulder, groaning. "Of course we're gonna be sad, you git.. Fuck, you..." His voice broke on the last words and he chose to stay quiet, sobbing.

"It's fine, it's fine... I know it's gonna be hard, but... you survived last year, and the one before too... you survived it once. I know you can survive twice, lads. I'm just... leaving the... material world." He shrugged, visibly not really touched by it. "It's alright. I'll always be there... in your hearts, in your minds... somewhere 'round there. I won't just leave you guys. It's gonna be alright."

George's words didn't really help, but they all knew it would help to remember those words in a few months. When he wouldn't be there anymore to say them.

He knew how awful things were for them; so he kept them against his chest in silence, absentmindedly caressing their backs. He hated when they were sad; he hated it even more when it was because of him. But it had to be done. If they didn't know, and, once again, he disappeared without any warning... they would go mad. So, he took his time to tell them everything. He already knew he would leave letters behind him; because he knew they would need something. He still had some time to write it all down anyway.

An hour later, they both calmed down. John was the first one to move away, his eyes red and his voice a little bit raspy. "Alright, er, so..."

Paul didn't move, staying in George's arms, tears still rolling down his cheeks in silence. George kissed his forehead again and looked at John. He knew John liked to appear strong. He was like that. But they all knew that he was devastated too. "Yeah, Johnny?"

"Er, shall we... talk about this with Richard? I mean he-... I think he should know." John frowned a little bit, closed his eyes for a second, trying to ignore his thoughts. He knew that he was taking Richard's side, more and more, he knew how dangerous it was, how stupid he was, but he just couldn't help it anymore. He really was on Richard's side, that was all. He just had to hide it, then.

"Geo, he- he loves you, a lot.." This time, Paul talked, voice shaking, looking up at George through his eyelashes, still crying.

George sighed, looking at his knees while biting his bottom lip. He shrugged, frowned. "I- I don't kno'. He should know, yeah, but... I'm a bit scared of his reaction." He rubbed his face and, for a second, he looked terribly old, exhausted and sad. "Please, tell him. Tell him everythin' I told you. Tell him he's gonna be fine."

John just sadly nodded, swallowing thickly, taking George's hand in his. "Okay... And how- how do you feel?"

George looked at him, hesitant. He could be honest, he wanted to be, but he felt like talking about his pain wouldn't help them. "It's alright. I'm not scared... it's just like a long trip.." He shrugged again and caressed Paul's hair. "I finally took some time to learn new things. I have me own little garden, I meditate, it's nice. Surprisingly, I live pretty normally. Dying isn't gonna stop me from living my life the way I want to live it."

John nervously chuckled when George moved his eyebrows in a weird, comic way. It was supposed to ease the mood. It worked a little bit at least, but John's face fell, his eyes stopping on their hands. He took his time to swallow the knot in his throat, refraining his tears. "What about- how- do you... Does it hurt? Do you feel pain?"

George's eyes darkened a little bit, and he opened his arms once again, inviting John to come back. He did, their sides against the other's, but John maintained his stare with curiosity and sadness. George sighed, looking at Paul. He hoped he would handle it well. "Yeah. All the time. It's not awful, just like a small reminder all day long. I still take medicines, it helps a little bit. Meditating too, when I can forget about all of this, when I don't feel too bad. Some days, I can't even meditate." He chose to be completely honest, still not going into details - they wouldn't be able to let him go if he told them he coughed blood sometimes. "I do feel weaker and weaker. I know it's gonna be problematic in a few weeks... But Elvis and Anna cheer me up, and I can still take care of my plants, and I can play music too. It's a great place, really. I don't focus on the pain."

"Oh, Georgie..." Paul sobbed and held him even tighter. George muffled a cough, ignoring the slight pain he felt. He kissed Paul's head a few times, whispering things in their ears, telling them that it was alright for now, that it wasn't worth their tears. It truly wasn't.

Even if he lied to them, a little bit. Of course, he was a bit scared. But he was learning this new religion and it was actually helping him with the idea of, well, dying. It was just another step, it wasn't... that bad. The pain was temporary. One day, he'd stop feeling it. He still wished he had more time with them because he loved them, he truly loved them. And Richard. Gosh, he wished he could see him again... but he knew they couldn't. George couldn't go in town. It was risky. And he couldn't see Richard, of course not. It made him sad.

They spent the entire evening together, George trying to soothe their cries. They talked a lot too because they all needed to know that they were still all together, for now at least.

Without them noticing it, the sky became darker and darker and it soon was impossible to see a thing outside. George looked up from his guitar. They decided to jam, just a little bit, but he guessed time flew by quickly.

"Lads, it's gettin' late." He warned them with a slight frown, slowly standing up, leaving his guitar on the couch.

They both looked outside at the same time. Paul's red eyes automatically followed George when he stretched, visibly tired. "Geo, you tired?" He asked, putting the bass George kept especially for him down.

Elvis stood up too, yawning and leaving John's feet. George smiled softly and patted his dog's head. He looked at Paul. He already knew he looked exhausted. And he was. It was getting worse and worse, obviously. Going out for a walk seemed harder and harder every day, even if Elvis was always jumping around to cheer him up. A smirk slowly made its way on his lips. "Ah, yeah, I'm getting older and older. Paulie, my dear, take my old and weak body to bed, please?"

It seemed to work because Paul's face looked like the Sun itself like it used to do. He rolled his eyes at him and raised an amused eyebrow. "Sod off, Harrison. I'm serious." And he was back to his sad, worried face. George thought that he looked like a mother, now. He always did. Speaking of mother, George missed his. He wished things weren't like they actually were.

The youngest moved closer and hugged him just for a few seconds. Then, he stepped back, looked at him and at John and smiled again. "I'm okay. And I was serious too. If you don't want to stay here for the night, you should go."

John groaned and got up too. "I guess you're right. We have to work tomorrow, anyway." He yawned, visibly tired. Paul took John's glasses - George wondered why he had them in his pocket, but he guessed John still wasn't okay with them. He pushed them on John's nose, ignoring how he automatically started to complain.

"Work? About Richard, right?" He curiously asked, cocking his head to the side.

Paul looked a little bit hesitant. They weren't really supposed to talk about it yet... But it was George. It was more than okay. "Yeah. Er, speaking of that, John." John looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I think that... we should... suppress the parts about Georgie." George and John both frowned. "I mean- they can't find you, George. You deserve some peace... If they know where you are and who you are... If they know your... role in everything, they're gonna take you away."

George seemed to understand Paul's point. But John seemed lost in his thoughts. "How? It's really risky, I don't know if we can cover everything. We talked a lot..."

They all stayed quiet, thinking of a solution. They had to find one for George's sake. Richard would agree too, if George was protected then everything was okay. The youngest looked around, biting his bottom lip.

"Oh, bloody hell, Anna, no, don't-!"

She turned around when George talked. Her tail pushed the glass. It broke in an awful, big noise, quickly followed by a "oh, shite". George took Anna under his arm, whistled when Elvis tried to come closer. He was about to clean everything by himself when John and Paul quickly took care of everything, Paul warning John ("careful with your fingers, Johnny, don't get hurt!").

John grabbed a big broken part when he suddenly stopped moving. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth, looking at the both of them, surprised. "Oh, I know, I know! Anna, little angel, you're the smartest cat I know, what a good girl!" He pressed a big kiss on the cat's head. "Let's just say that, er... Jesus accidentally broke our tape recorder."

George frowned and looked at John, wondering if he was crazy. "John, lad, I don't think Jesus-"

"Our cat, George, our cat! Jesus always breaks everything. We complain a lot- our boss knows our little Jesus is a troublemaker!"

"Just like his owner." George answered with a smirk, still holding Anna.

"Yeah, well, it would make sense! We're doing that. Your secret is safe with us, mate." John grinned - THE Lennon grin, visibly very proud of his solution. Paul looked satisfied too. George surprisingly felt nostalgic. He missed his best friends.

He walked closer, with Anna in his arms, and hugged his best friends with a small smile. "Lads, I missed you. It's nice to see you again."

"Well, I know my solution's awesome, but no need to be all sappy about it, Geo." John joked, but his voice was sweet. George knew he always joked around when he was, himself, getting emotional.

"We missed you too, Georgie. It's good to... talk with you.." Paul kissed the youngest's forehead, trying not to think about the fact that they wouldn't be able to talk soon. He would cry his heart out later. For now, George was there, he should at least enjoy it while he could. Thinking was just useless right now, and for once, he actually tried to stop it, only focusing on the moment. It felt good, it felt fine.

"Yeah, nice to know, that, y'know, you didn't really disappear, stuff like that. Not that important."

"John!" Paul hit his shoulder with a warning glare. They broke the hug while John was complaining. George just watched them with a soft smile. It felt like he only left them the day before. It felt like home. Because George knew ; he would never feel like home in this house, nor in his parents'. Home meant Paul and John, joking around and playing music with them. They smelt like home, they felt like home. They were his home. Forever.

"C'mon, you really should go. Just call me soon, alright?" Things turned out well and he was more than glad. He finally was back with them. He only missed Richard now.

"Yeah, don't worry. It was really nice, Georgie. See you soon, mh? I think we can come over next week, since we're almost done with Richard, the boss will probably let us take some days off." Paul said with a smile, already planning what they had to do. He was always like that. It made John chuckle. He was glad to have someone like him because he was completely unable to plan things early.

They talked a little bit more before actually leaving the house. It was hard to actually leave - even though they knew George was there. They just had to drive and they would be with George. It felt unusual but nice.

It was when they both sat down, Paul driving, that they realized everything that happened in between. The smile on Paul's lips disappeared, slowly.

"George is really dying, isn't he?" He whispered, afraid of his own words.

John looked up, not having enough time to hide his fear. He was truly, truly scared. Someone else was leaving his life. Again. And again. George was dying - George was going to die. It was hard to live through it once... it was even more awful twice, and he was slowly realizing it. He swallowed his pain and extented his arm, his hand gently caressing Paul's thigh. He didn't even think about lying when he answered him. He knew Paul needed him to be honest about it. He needed to hear it from someone else. 

"Yeah, he is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> sorry guys lol   
> but nah don't worry it's gonna get worse later ahahah  
> yeah so yeah I took some time to write it tho', not sure if I actually like it? I don't know. Tell me what you think about it anyway?  
> Ah also, I got super lazy and I didn't edit it or anything... like putting things in bold... and everything......... I'm super lazy ugh but it takes so long for real.  
> OOF if you want to talk to me or anything, you can find me on tumblr! (https://ringzthesavage.tumblr.com/) I also have twitter (https://twitter.com/ringzisasavage)  
> Don't hesitate, come talk to me, I swear I'm nice. I think. A little bit.  
> Good night, everyone! (yeaaaah I suck at those notes things lol sorry)


	8. So if you meet me, have some courtesy

"My two favourite lads in the world. How are you, on this bright, beautiful day?"

Ringo was visibly in a great mood. Paul already felt guilty, sitting down next to John. Today was a big, bad day. They were meeting him to explain everything about George. They didn't know how things would go.

But they thought about the problem they had; hiding things to their boss. They agreed on what they previously said to George. They just had to write everything down, hiding the parts about George, hoping that nobody would be clever enough to ask the guards about it. It was still a possibility.

"You look great today, Richard." John answered, avoiding the question, a small smile on his lips, even though it did not reach his eyes.

Richard automatically frowned. He stayed quiet for a second, trying to analyze them, but they visibly weren't naive anymore. "Yeah, I'm fine. I couldn't wait to see you two. It's been, what... two weeks already?" His eyes looked bright and Paul already knew he was waiting for them to talk about George.

He squirmed in his seat, biting his tongue with a slight frown. "Uh, yeah. Two weeks."

The killer frowned once again, playing a little, impatient, tune on the table. His stare stopped on John. Visibly, something bad happened. And if something bad happened, Richard already knew John would be the one to bring it. He just knew it would be like that, and, of course, he was right. John cleared his throat, pressed the bridge of his nose. He looked a bit nervous. "We saw a friend." He just said, knowing he couldn't get into full details. Richard had to guess everything based on their words; but John had never been the patient kind. Paul was.

"It was nice, seeing him after such a long time. We didn't do much after it, but we'll probably see him soon anyway, aren't we, Johnny?"

John just nodded. Richard looked happy. George was alive. He always believed he wasn't dead anyway. George couldn't die. Richard used to buy books about survival and weird stuff like that; George was always joking about it but he read all of them with him. So he knew a lot of things about death; he just couldn't die. So Richard wasn't really surprised about it, even though his chest felt warmer now that he knew that it was the truth. «Yeah? How was it? The… meeting? »

Paul automatically rose his arm, tapping two fingers against his bottom lip, grimacing a little bit when he realized that he couldn't smoke there – his cigarettes were in the car anyway. He sighed, his eyes wandering around for a little bit. How were they even supposed to tell him that George was really going to die? Now he understood how hard it had been for George – telling them all about his own illness, about how he knew he was dying and that he couldn't do a thing about it. « Er, well… It was… surprising. » He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. He felt like throwing up, now that he had accepted the truth. He wanted to go back in time.

«Surprising? » Richard repeated, cocking his head to the side, frowning. Could he already feel that something was off? Paul hoped he wouldn't take it too badly anyway. He just wished he wouldn't be violent. It wouldn't be great for him – people would start to remember the case… and he would rot in jail for a long, long time. Or he would be killed. That kind of things happened often.

« He told us about his… love and his family and his other love… It was unexpected, yeah. » John finished, visibly aware that Paul couldn't do it all alone. Nobody could. But George did. Poor George probably felt so lonely…

A small, small smile appeared on Richard's face, but he still looked a bit nervous – and he couldn't even hide it. «Oh? Must have been interesting, that's for sure. Is that all? » This time, curiosity sparkled in his eyes. Paul felt awfully bad.

« No, he… he, mh. He explained why he, er, moved away. » They were going to tell him. Paul closed his eyes, shut them tighter and tighter, hoping it was a nightmare of some sorts… but it wasn't. When he opened his eyes again, they stopped on the guard, who was lazily looking at a wall. It was another guard; not the usual one. Richard caught his stare and shook his head with a smile.

« A friend of mine, don't worry. In fact, you actually don't need to… yeah. So, er, why did he…? »

« He's dying. Lung cancer, throat cancer, brain tumour… He went to the doctor at some point and thought it would be best not to… involve you. That's why he… left. » John decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to avoid it. He had to know.

Richard's face fell. Then, he frowned, staring at the table, visibly having some kind of conflict. Paul's eyes automatically searched his face, trying to understand what was happening. He felt bad, but if he could understand Richard just a little bit more – maybe they could find a way to help him. But Richard was hard to read. Paul never faced such a case during his studies. Maybe… maybe if he decided to teach people about psychology and criminals, he would use this case as an example.

« T's not possible. » Richard said, squirming in his seat. The mask he usually had was breaking; Paul could see how panicked he was. His eyes kept moving on his hands as if he was trying to solve a problem – but there was no solution, and Paul knew it. It didn't stop Richard. His cheeks were turning red but his face looked pale, even paler than they usually did. « No, it can't be… He can't… No. » He kept whispering, tears softly appearing. His eyes never looked so dark before.

« We're really sorry, Richard. We tried to… convince him to at least try medicines and stuff like that one last time but… he doesn't want. He already did it once, went through surgery… it worked for a few months but… it's just back. He doesn't want to spend money on something he… already accepted. » John's voice was clumsily soft, trying his best to explain the situation – he knew Richard wasn't mentally okay right now, but he knew that the lad would be rightly pissed off later if he thought about it ; being too lost in his own thoughts to ask was something both he and Paul regretted ; they still had so much to say to their mothers – and it just wasn't possible anymore. He wanted to give Richard this chance.

« So that's why he left. » Richard's face became all serious again, business-like voice. He looked like a robot. « He left because he's dyin'. Why didn't he tell me? I can… » He stopped, blinked, his stare sliding on the floor as if he was listening to someone. He shook his head and his bottom lip softly began to shake. « I could do something, bloody hell. »

« He insisted about- about that. He doesn't want to be helped. He said he's fine by himself – and, well, he doesn't want us to… ''waste'' money for… him. » Paul whispered, still staring at him in wonder every time Richard's expression changed – and it changed quite a lot.

But Richard visibly wasn't really listening to him – he probably put the information somewhere in his mind, but didn't seem to really think about it for now. His eyes watered once again and he began to nervously play a tune on the table, a fast one, just getting faster and faster with every blink. « He's gonna die alone… My George is… gonna die. Alone. » He repeated a few times to the point where his voice became just a whisper that they couldn't catch anymore – but they could read the words dying on his lips.

« Do… Do you need something? Water? » Paul asked and automatically looked up to the guard who still wasn't paying attention to them – Richard chose his friends well.

Richard didn't answer but started to mumble things they couldn't hear; he truly looked mad there and Paul was almost scared. He looked up at John who was frowning, wondering what they should do now. Nothing in Paul's books could have helped them with this situation, they both were sure about it. John cleared his throat once; twice, and still, no reply.

Eventually, after an entire, long, very long, minute, Richard turned around. « Oi, we're going back. Yeah, it's time to go… Goodbye, lads. »

And just like that, the guard came and showed them the door. Paul stood there, more than surprised, blinking. It was the first time Richard kicked them out. Well, more or less, but still! John groaned, frowning, but stood up, took Paul's wrist, turned away. They left, barely hearing Richard's small « thank you for everything », choosing not to let their minds work on that little sentence.

The month never seemed so short; they told their boss about the « accident » involving Jesus, their cat with a really long tail, and their tape recorder, insisting on the fact that it really fell badly on the floor and that they couldn't fix it. But, of course, they wrote everything down; and, of course, it would be on Mr Epstein's desk by Monday. Of course. The plan seemed to work well enough; everybody believed them. All thanks to Jesus' reputation as a troublemaker.

They didn't think it would be long and tiring to write every session down. Surprise; it was! Paul had spent an entire week on it and he had only done the half of it. And even John's – excellent – tea wasn't enough to make his week better. Without mentioning the moments where they just couldn't remember what the discussion had been about; they, after all, talked a lot with Richard – and without the bits about George…

It was during a cold, boring afternoon that their boss called. They were both busy writing and, eventually, the phone stopped ringing. Paul just groaned, taking a sip of his coffee, still writing with his free hand.

And then, the ringing was back. Paul sighed loudly, putting his cup down on the floor next to him, still writing. « John, can you answer the phone, please? »

John didn't even look up at him, visibly trying to remember a sentence. He mumbled but finally gave up when he decided that the words wouldn't come out; instead, he stood up and grabbed their old phone, pressing it against his ear. «Hello? » He asked, his eyes stopping on Paul who looked up curiously. It was like a short break; and they really, really needed it. John couldn't even feel his hand anymore.

«John? I hope I'm not disturbing but I have news. » It was Mr Epstein's voice. A call from their boss was never, never a good sign. Something bad had happened, John guessed. He worriedly frowned at Paul.

« Oh, Mr Epstein. No, not really, it's fine. Something wrong? » He automatically asked and, this time, Paul put his pen down, his attention fully focused on John. He was frowning too, now, hoping nothing serious had happened.

« Well, you're not going to like it, John, I'm afraid. » He paused and John heard him blow his smoke. John bit his tongue when he felt the need to tell him to hurry up; even though their boss was a good, kind man, he wouldn't take that very well. They even joked together, sometimes, but nothing more. And John wanted to keep their job. « We've contacted Richard, as always, to prepare another session. »

« Yeah, as always…? And? » John impatiently wondered, only noticing that his tone visibly wasn't the right one when Paul sighed and shook his head. He just couldn't help it sometimes. Especially when people weren't saying things straight.

« He refused. He said no. Saying that he was feeling too ill to receive people. I tried to insist but it was unsuccessful. » A heavy sigh left Mr Epstein's lips and it made John's body automatically burn with anger.

«What? That must be a joke, he can't refuse a session! I know we know lots of stuff, but still! Things were going so well… »

When he started to redden, Paul groaned and went to take the phone, letting John pace angrily around the room, still saying out loud that he « just couldn't understand it » and « how can he even be ill when he clearly wasn't ? ». He ended up mumbling, arms crossed against his chest. « Just because George is… »

Paul sighed and shook his head. He cleared his throat. « Hi, sorry Mr Epstein. John had to do something else. So, you're saying that Richard… refused another session? »

Mr Epstein didn't seem to mind the switch. He didn't even comment on it, just sighing heavily. « Yes. He vaguely said that he would see for another one, later, but I doubt he was seriously thinking about it. Do you have an idea why, perhaps? Did he look ill? »

Paul played with his hair with a concerned look. Of course not. He was sure that Richard was lying; but why? Well, he could understand that the news about George wasn't what he wanted to hear. Maybe he just needed time? Still, Paul wished he accepted the session. It would have been easier for all of them. And what was he even supposed to say, now? « Er, well… He looked… Agitated. He left early but we don't know why. He just said that it was time for him to go; we already said everything we knew to you right after it anyway. » He shrugged, decided to protect George – he knew the police would want him back here in no time if they knew about him. They couldn't allow that.

John stopped walking at some point and went to lie down on their couch, visibly still angry, based on the way he was pinching his arm – an odd thing he always did to keep himself from his own anger. Paul went back to Mr Epstein when he talked again. « Paul, you're sure that there wasn't anything else? I reckon his reaction is a bit odd. I don't quite get it. »

Paul knew he just had to say a few words and they would become quite important in the entire case. No doubt that if they managed to hide George for years and years, they would become famous too if someone eventually could find the truth. But they just had to protect George. It was already too late to go back to their decision; and Paul didn't want it. With his best, calm, innocent voice, he answered him. « Well, I'm afraid to tell you that it was truly just that. He looked agitated, maybe nervous or, er, ill, I don't know much more. Maybe he truly is ill. He must be serious anyway about the next session; he knows we already have the truth on almost everything. A little bit more wouldn't hurt him. He probably just needs a break or something like that. »

It went silent on the other side of the line; Paul wondered for a second if Mr Epstein believed his lies. He closed his eyes, hoping that he wasn't going to say that he already knew everything or that he didn't believe it or worst, that he was firing them. Time seemed slow once again. Paul looked at the phone with a frown, was about to ask Mr Epstein if he was still there when his voice calmly talked. « I guess. Thank you, Paul. Are you already finished with the file? »

Paul looked down at the papers all around his feet, knowing too well that no, they weren't really close to finish everything. He cleared his throat and automatically smiled. « Er, yeah, yeah. Almost done. I think John will put it on your desk on Monday. It's gonna be a busy day so I'm not sure you'll have them before lunch, though, I hope you don't mind. » John looked up, giving him the thumbs up. They needed some more time and Paul at least tried.

« No, no, it's okay. I have a meeting anyway, I won't be in my office before lunch. Great, see you on Monday then. Bye. »

And with that, they went back to sit down on the floor, looking at each other for a minute. John still seemed a bit angry but a lot less than earlier. Paul sighed and finally looked at the sheet of paper in front of him. « Well, we should continue now, mh? And, well, maybe Richard will change his mind, who knows. What about going over to George's this weekend? If we're done with all of this, of course. » John was more than happy to accept.

In fact, it was the only thing that motivated both of them to write. John especially seemed eager to finish it; he even stopped complaining after a small argument and chose to talk about visiting George every time he wanted to punch a wall. Paul was weirdly quiet about it, and even John's puppy eyes weren't enough to push him to talk about his worries. But deep down, he was deeply concerned about George; they couldn't just go see him without warning. And their presence was going to disturb him; he would be really tired. He didn't need that, now, did he? But he must be so alone; Paul just couldn't help it.

When Paul opened his eyes, it was nine o'clock. Sunday. The word let a sour taste in his mouth when he whispered it, strangely enough. He still didn't know what to do about visiting George. He slowly got up, looked at John, who was slightly snoring. The man moved when Paul did. They worked late the night before, John insisting that they just had to finish it early. Paul didn't argue and they, indeed, had written everything down around midnight.

Paul felt even more tired than before. He wondered if it would have been before to stay up all night. He shrugged it off, quickly took a shower, put a sweater and some jeans on and disappeared in the kitchen, already preparing a cup of coffee. John wouldn't be up now; in an hour, maybe. Paul liked it when everything was quiet; when it was just John's steady breathing, his light snores, the quiet sounds of the city barely making its way to Paul's ears.

But things seemed a little bit off; maybe Paul was feeling nervous about visiting George? He didn't think so, but he couldn't tell when he was nervous; he was just always nervous anyway. Still, everything felt weird.

He drank his coffee and decided not to think too much about it; he would talk about his concern about George's health to John when he'd be awake and then, well, maybe they would go see him. Maybe they would spend a quiet, calm afternoon together.

He grabbed the book he was currently reading. John always said that Alice in Wonderland was ''one hell of a good book''. And since Paul only read it once or twice when he was a kid, he chose to read it again. He was still at the beginning; they had spotted it in the library next to their flat just a week ago and John almost begged him to read it. So, he did.

He was just starting to read when the phone rang. The book fell of his hands and in just a second or two, he was grabbing the phone, hoping it didn't wake John up.

He was wrong; a sleepy groan answered his small ''bloody hell''. Well, it was probably near ten o'clock now.

«Hello? »

Mr Epstein's voice. Again. Paul pushed the door of their bedroom open with his foot. It was enough; John rolled on his side and looked at him, still looking very sleepy, frowning.

« Oh, er, yes, hello Mr Epstein! We're done with everything, we can stop by if you want - » Paul nervously said, not waiting to hear what the man had to say. John shook his head and his lips disappeared in a thin, severe line – he truly looked like his aunt Mimi, Paul thought.

« No, no, Paul, it's not about- it's not about that, I don't… You should probably listen to the radio, son. Is John here too? » His voice was tired, tensed. Paul never heard him like that. Surprised, he looked at John and nodded, only noticing a second after that he was talking on the phone. He cleared his throat and a ''yes'' barely escaped his lips, but it did because his boss talked again. « Great, please, listen to the news. I'll call you back in ten minutes, it's a bit… complicated right now. »

« Er, okay, sir. »

With that done, Paul went to sit down next to John, looking pale and unsure. His hand stopped in his auburn hair and he took a second to gently run his fingers against his scalp. « Eppy said we should listen to the news. He said he's gonna call back; too complicated right now. I don't really know what he meant but… » He shrugged. John's face automatically showed his concern. He pressed a kiss on Paul's forehead and extended his hand to grab their radio.

Soon enough, it was on. Paul thought he would hear music, but a man was speaking. John turned the volume up.

« … said that he had no idea how nobody noticed. The police is already looking through town but the killer is known for his hiding skills. If you see him, please call this number… »

« What the hell is going on? » John muttered, changing the station, hoping to catch the news at the beginning this time. His other hand found Paul's and he squeezed his fingers gently, already feeling how tense he was. Paul knew, oh, he knew that this day wouldn't go well.

« This morning, around two o'clock, the famous Father's Killer escaped. He's currently on the run. The guards said they didn't see him nor did they know about his plans; it just seems like he flew away. The police think the killer might have received help from the inside but they can't say any more than this. They added that they wanted to catch him quickly; new evidence could be leading to another trial. We don't know more for now but stay tu- »

John turned the radio off. He looked up at Paul who seemed ready to break; he couldn't tell if he was going to cry or headbutt a wall. He couldn't blame him; he, himself, felt like the floor had disappeared. He took a shaky breath, barely blinked when Paul quickly stood up, eyes widening more and more as realization hit him.

« Fuck, John. Richard is gone. He bloody left the fucking prison. » He started to say, visibly panicking. He ran his hand through his hair once and then started to pull nervously. « John, John, it's because of us, oh god, it's because we talked to him, it's because we found George, we shouldn't even have tried to talk to them, god, John, what are we going to do… »

When he began to cry, his tears hit John full strength; he realized what they had unconsciously done. And of course, it was affecting Paul a lot. Without noticing it, he got up and went to hug him, soothingly rubbing his back and leaving kisses on his forehead. He knew how difficult things would become for them; hiding things was never good… and they were hiding lots of things. Even though John knew Paul was only flipping out, he couldn't help but let his words sink in. It was because of them. He believed that Richard wouldn't kill anyone, but he would try to find George. And maybe he would get killed. Or he would kill someone. Or himself. Things could go very wrong. For Richard, for George… and also for them. If someone discovered what they knew, and that they, more or less, helped him… yes, things could go very wrong, very fast.

John softly rested his forehead against Paul's, his hands stroking his cheeks, but he couldn't force a smile. It felt too hard. « It's gonna be okay, Paulie, trust me. I'm gonna call Epstein. We'll ask a day off… or two, I don't know yet. Then, I'll call George to tell him all about what we know. Tomorrow, we'll drop the file at the office and then we'll go see George. George's gonna help us with all of that, Paul, okay? And if we're lucky enough, well.. maybe Richard just wants to go live far away with George. »

But he knew Paul didn't really believe him; once again, blaming him was hard when he couldn't believe his own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you all for your reviews, they're lovely! It really helps with motivation and stuff.  
> How was this chapter? A bit boring, I guess, but it's gonna be... wild after all of that, believe me.  
> I hope you liked it! I think this first... er, serie? will end in about 3 chapters? 4? Something like that. Then, yeah, there'll be a little chapter after everything... I'm still planning everything out so it's not really clear but... yeah.  
> Leave kudos, reviews, stuff, everything!  
> See you around!


	9. Run in the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard ran away. Things are getting harder and harder for John and Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I late? Y E S.  
> I'm really sorry. I was kinda busy last month, I tried the NaNoWriMo......... WHAT A FAIL LOL.  
> Anyway, there was school and some more personal stuff I had to take care of.  
> But Christmas is almost there and I ended the chapter now so I thought it would be great to publish it! Hope you all like it. Tell me in the comments! This chapter is a bit... well, not quite good, a bit boring I guess but the next one will be really exciting. For me, at least!  
> Bonne lecture!

Monday came by faster than excepted.

When John knocked on Mr. Epstein's door, nobody opened it. Usually, Eppy would appear with a calm look on his face. He would be nice and kind but still strict about the job they needed to do. This time, John barely heard a "Come in, come in!" coming from inside.

He opened the door with a frown.

Papers were scattered everywhere across the desk. The phone was just lying on top of some, next to Eppy's pale hand. His office was a mess; the curtains weren't rightly drawn, Eppy's vest had fallen of his chair. The man looked up at John when he entered and automatically stood up. The first buttons of his shirt were undone.

Not in an attractive way at all; he just looked like he was really tired. He looked like work was killing him. His hair wasn't even combed and he had bags under his eyes.

Epstein was always, always the clean, perfect gentleman. People always said it. He was polite, kind, always listening and trying to help even when he couldn't. His life only meant sense when it was to help others, to give himself fully in his work, in order to make others' lives easy and nice. He was really a good man.

And he never, never came to work dressed like that. He always insisted when John wasn't wearing a nice suit, saying that things between people went through clothes and looks at first, that it was important to look decent. John never quite got it but he tried not to upset him about it and decided to wear suits or, at least, shirts.

But Eppy looked like the opposite of himself, exhausted. His smile wasn't going all the way up to his eyes, they weren't shining and his face wasn't calm, nice and welcoming as it always was. He was tensed, nervous... almost vulnerable. John knew he was a sensible man, but this was something else. He felt a bit uncomfortable to be able to see him in his state.

"Hello. I have your file right there..." He slowly said, extending his hand, only letting go of the file when Eppy's fingers were holding it firmly - no way he would let their hard work go to waste. Just imagining their work, the many, many pages, lying all around them was enough to make him nauseous. "With everything... it's probably better for you to have it..."

He had said to Paul that he would try to get days off; this was the right moment. And maybe he could even learn a thing or two.

Epstein sat back down in his chair, opening the file and vaguely reading the first page. He looked interested but John knew he wouldn't read it if he was waiting right in front of him. "Perfect. I'll give it a look this afternoon... hopefully the phone won't ring much."

John sat down too, still frowning, trying hard to hide his curiosity - Paul had always been better at that. Where Paul was cleverness and thoughts over actions, John was raw emotions and impulsivity. Which wasn't always the best. "Well, it looks like you're having a hard time... How's everything going?" He decided to go straight for it. Eppy wasn't in the right state to even think of keeping things a secret. Well, he would, if it wasn't John. Why would John go around and repeat it to anyone anyway? If only he knew... Guilt squeezed his heart.

"Not good, not good at all. We searched around the city, he's nowhere to be found. We're still looking for him, of course. But when time flies by, it's harder and harder to guess..." Eppy mumbled in answer, trying to organize the papers around him to keep his hands busy. "People keep calling me to keep me updated about it. There's not much to say. Everyone's panicking, throwing theories and ideas at everyone... that would be the best moment to strike."

"Do you think he's gonna kill again?" John still asked, even though he knew Richard wasn't after that. Not like he could really say it out loud. He had to play it cool, keep it down. It wouldn't be good if Eppy got all suspicious.

"Well, there's a huge chance he will. Of course, maybe he's just gonna hide somewhere until his death..." But Epstein frowned and shook his head. "But that wouldn't make sense, right? Giving himself to the police and then escaping... and hiding? He could have done that right from the beginning." He leaned back in his chair, pressed his fingers against his eyes. John couldn't help but pity him. "There must be something... something we missed... something we don't know. Why would he do that? Why would he go to the police and confess about the murders as if his life was already over anyway, as if it doesn't matter what happened to him and then run away at some point? This doesn't make any sense."

John bit his bottom lip and looked at the wall, trying his best to appear pensive and confused. If he tried hard enough, maybe Eppy would even believe he was scared. "Maybe. He never talked about anything like that, though. Maybe we overlooked something, you still should give the file a look, but I don't remember him saying why." His mind was screaming George's name again and again but he focused on Eppy's worried face. He couldn't let anything slip. He had to protect his friend... his friends. It felt weird to consider Richard like that... but it's not like he had another label available for someone like him. Killer? He was more than just that. It was... complicated.

Epstein stayed quiet, looking at his face. John could feel his skin growing hotter and hotter but he tried his best not to look like he actually had something to do with Richard's whereabouts. But he was a good liar, his aunt could confirm it. And even her, the hardest one to fool, had been lied to more than once. Thankfully, he was the one who had to support Epstein's eyes. Paul wasn't much of a good one. He was clever but so nervous he would have ended up giving Richard to him without meaning to.

He looked back at him, raising a curious eyebrow. He wasn't bad at this game. Soon enough, Epstein sighed. "Yeah. I'll read it. Maybe you missed something. not that I think it's going to change something... but who knows. It's always best to check twice." John nodded quietly. "I think you should go... things are going to be really busy for me this afternoon. Don't expect to see me before a few days. I'll be there if you need me, of course."

John got up with a slight frown. "Actually, I have to ask you about days off... Just tomorrow and Wednesday? Paul and I? Paul's grandfather is very ill, and with everything going on, we thought it would be best if we were with him. Just to take care of him and everything. We're really worried Starkey's gonna do something... who knows what he's really capable of." He used his best puppy eyes, trying to remember how well Paul always did that.

Epstein barely looked up, already reading the first page of their file. "Yes, yes. I don't think you'd be very useful right now anyways..." He mumbled but still gave him a small, tired smile. It was the sign. John smiled back, said goodbye, and disappeared in their office.

The only time Paul and John were completely together, sure that no one was hearing them, was when they were comfortably lying down in their bed, pressed against each other.

Paul still seemed very agitated, tensed. John could feel his nervousness and it wasn't helping him. John's nervousness usually changed into anger very quickly which was always useless and annoying. He knew it but he just couldn't stop himself.

"John?"

Of course, they both weren't asleep. It was hard not to think about Richard's escape. "Yeah...?" He answered, eyes still closed, his chin softly resting against Paul's head.

The youngest turned around even though it was too dark to actually see the other. He pressed his face against John's chest, taking in his reassuring smell and the warmth of his body. This was home. It was enough to calm him down a little bit. "What should we do, now?" John could imagine the worried frown, how even the way he blinked was enough to show his nervousness. How he always touched his face, scratching his cheek with his lips parted or how they would disappear in a thin, severe line when things were not going the way he wanted them to.

"There's not much we can do." Blunt as always. "Tomorrow... we'll go see George. Maybe Richard... maybe he's there. If he's not, George still has to be warned. Just in case. He probably doesn't know."

"And what if... they find a way to learn the truth?" His voice was barely a whisper. He seemed totally frozen against John. He still wrapped his fingers around John's hip, and John wrapped an arm around him, pressing a kiss in his hair.

"They won't. And if they do, we'll run away too. We're strong enough to do that. Now, don't think too much and go to sleep. It's getting late; you need your beauty sleep, darling."

And just like that, they both fell asleep quickly after their discussion. Speaking about their problems was often good enough to make them forget about it.

But when they woke up the next day, it was already on their minds, cruel and scared thoughts echoing in their heads, again and again, playing every scenario twice in a minute. Their phone rang. Nobody got up to answer; it was their day off. They had so much to think about anyway that they weren't sure they heard it ringing. They didn't talk much this time, and, without knowing or realizing it, they were in their car, Paul driving.

Probably too soon for their own liking, they were back in front of George's house. They got out of the car, looking at each other, pale and nervous. John took Paul's hand and kissed him gently.

"It's gonna be okay, love. George isn't as... he's not like Richard. He won't do anything... and he probably already guessed Richard would do that."

Paul was about to answer when a bark was heard. A few seconds after, George's brown labrador, Elvis, was running towards them, immediately jumping on Paul who almost fell backwards, surprised. John wondered if the dog could sense Paul's nervousness because he began to lick his hands while barking happily and wagging his tail.

Paul laughed and started to caress him.

"John? Paul?"

John looked up to see George. He looked skinny; as always, but now that John knew... now that he knew about... about him, he seemed to notice it more and more.

"Hey, Georgie. Are we disturbing you or anything?" He asked with a small smile, walking closer and hugging him.

"Er, no, no. Is everything fine?"

John turned around, thinking that he needed Paul on this one - was he supposed to say yes? Or should he tell the truth directly?

But Paul was visibly busy. He was carrying Elvis, clumsily trying to see where his feet were. Which seemed to make the dog really happy, giving in the way he tried to lick Paul's face.

"Oh, bloody hell, sorry Paul! Elvis, that's not what you're supposed to do!" George quickly said, blushing a little bit, giving a little tap to his own thigh. Elvis turned his head towards him, tongue rolled out of his mouth, ears standing up on his head.

"No, Geo, it's fine! Elvis is a baby boy, look, look, he's so happy! Oh yeah, you're a good baby boy, aren't you?" Paul quickly said, his head barely appearing behind the dog, soon hidden in a sort of hug, still holding him carefully.

John let out a loud sigh and turned to look at George. "Er, well. Sorry. We should probably go inside. Paul, come on... take Elvis if you want but we're not there to play, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. But look, Johnny, his little paw is on my shoulder, he's hugging me too!"

Paul's mind was visibly focused on something else. John didn't comment more on it, knowing Paul wouldn't listen anyway.

They all got inside, George looking at them curiously every two seconds. They sat down on the couch, with cups of tea, Elvis finally disappearing to run after a butterfly in the garden that he saw through the window and sprinted away from Paul with a bark.

Paul unbuttoned his shirt and put it next to them, staying in his tee-shirt. John suddenly seemed very interested in Elvis' fur all over Paul's shirt, feeling like running away faster than the dog did. Once again, he felt overwhelmed. And it wasn't even that much! Well, of course, it would be very hard for George... knowing Richard was out there... But if he started to think about everything that could potentially happen... No, really, he shouldn't. He would probably lose his mind if he tried.

"So? What's wrong?" George finally asked, frowning. "You both look... like death. A bit earlier for that, no?" He laughed, shook his head. "Okay, sorry. Too early for those jokes too. More seriously, tell me all about your problems."

John took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes. He really didn't want to put another weight on George's shoulders. But if George knew he was thinking like that, he would get pretty angry. He would stand up, all tensed, face reddening and would say things like that "Jesus bloody hell, John, I'm not a bloody baby!" with his strong Scouse accent. His posture would just shout his anger and John would forget for a second that he was sick, and he would think that he still looked young and full of energy, when he truly wasn't. He chose not to think like that, just to ease this weird guilty feeling he had, as if he had a tiny George in his body that was screaming about how stupid he was.

He put his cup down and was about to take his cigarettes out to smoke one when he remembered that it probably wasn't the wisest thing to do next to George. He started to tap his fingers against his thigh. Finally, when he got bored of his own thoughts, he turned to look at George, only noticing that what lasted an hour for him just lasted two or three seconds. "Richard escaped. He ran away. He's... well, we don't know where he is. But he's certainly not in prison. Which is, well, the problem."

George's cup almost fell from his hands. He slowly put it down on the table, eyes widening more and more. "Oh, no." He started to say, repeating it a few times. "No, he didn't…" In just a few seconds, he began to pace around the room, small circles around Anna, who was sleeping on the floor. The youngest was already deeply lost in his thoughts, still mumbling things they couldn't hear or understand. Standing up like that, John could easily see how skinny he was - it had always been like that, but now... everything revolved around that. Around his illness. John couldn't help noticing things he didn't notice before.

Paul sighed and softly stood up too, gently putting his hand on George's forearm. "Georgie?" He asked, kind voice and worried eyes. Paul knew how to handle George.

George looked up, looking like he just remembered that they were there. He frowned. "Ah... sorry." He weakly smiled, right canine pressing against his full bottom lip, even though they knew it was a fake smile. "Sorry. How did.."

He didn't need to end his sentence; John was already answering. "Somebody helped him. We think it might be a guard... There's one who could have actually helped him. He said that he was a 'friend', that we could talk about you because he wouldn't tell anyone about it. I guess it's this one. Or maybe he's not even the only 'friend' Richard had. We don't really know much." He shrugged but still grimaced a little bit. He liked to know everything. He felt awfully frustrated when he couldn't know everything - and unless Richard decided to appear at this exact moment to explain everything, John didn't think they would see him again soon. Well, he wasn't sure but he really thought that he would hide at least for some time. A few months, probably.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised by that… It's actually making sense. Richard always makes sure he can escape no matter where he is or what he's doing, it doesn't matter. He likes to think about every possibility… just to prepare a way to save his butt. That's just how he is." George shrugged. "And since he didn't know about me… I can imagine that he imagined that I was still out there and that he would know it, somehow. Just in case."

"Now that you're saying it like that, I can agree. I mean, yeah. It makes sense. So… If we follow that… you think he'll come here ?" Paul gently asked, visibly not able to keep his question to himself – he needed to know, of course. He was already sure that Richard would come. How? It didn't matter, not really. But he wanted to know what George thought of it.

"Oh, yeah. Probably. He's probably this close to completely explode. He's gonna be pissed, probably. He needs me as much as I need him right now. How did he take the news, by the way ?"

John sadly shook his head. "Oh, not well. He was very… yeah, agitated. He kept changing his expression, I think it was… not what he was expecting. "

"It was painful to watch him. I think he's... really hurt to know that... Well." Paul cleared his throat, scratched his cheek. He still wasn't comfortable with George's cancer. He just couldn't bring himself to say it. Every time he mentioned it, his chest tightened. He just had to clear his mind.

"Yeah. I guessed it would be like that. It's not as bad as it could have been, you know." George shrugged. As if it was perfectly normal. "It's not really against you. If he ever says something... unexpected... Well, it wouldn't be because he doesn't like you. I think he actually likes you. And you're my best friends, he wouldn't... Yeah. He didn't yell or anything, did he?" He asked, trying to hide the worry that was slowly appearing on his face.

John didn't know what to think about what he had just said. It sounded almost like he was apologizing and explaining Richard's actions... but he didn't do anything wrong, did he? Well, of course. He was a killer. But he didn't react badly when they announced George's cancer. "No, no... He was really in his own world."

"Well, that's a relief."

They all took a few minutes to go through everything that happened, everything they were sure about. It was hard to keep track of everything. But they had to. If they wanted to predict Richard's next moves. And John truly wanted that. He needed to know what Richard would do; go and see George? Or would he... would he try to kill someone?

John knew Richard wouldn't kill just for the sake of it. And he seemed really calm now. Just focused on George. But a killer... stayed a killer. Richard was human, yes... but he killed people. Bad people, but still. John's mind was fighting, the two different sides refusing to agree with the other one. Either Richard was just a bloody killer, or he was a human who did terrible, terrible things.

"What if... What if he doesn't make it?"

George broke the silence, frowning more and more.

"What do you mean?" Paul softly asked, frowning too, but in confusion. He didn't understand what he was saying.

"You know. If they actually catch him."

John never really thought about it. Strangely enough. But now that George was mentioning it, John added it as a new possibility. Maybe he would be caught. John doubted it... but it was possible. He took his time to think about it, letting his eyes scan George's face. His right canine was almost breaking the skin of his bottom lip. He always did that when he was anxious. John couldn't blame him. If it was Paul instead of Richard... He gulped. "Well... It would be really bad. They would go through every case involving him. And, this time... the trial would be... more complicated."

Paul's eyes were automatically shining with intelligence. He looked like that when he was in university. John had to suppress a smile. "It would be a disaster. They would go harder on his sentence since they didn't really pay attention to it last time. They really just looked at it once or twice, made a quick sentence, threw him in jail, and that was all. But with all the ruckus he's causing, they'd be really mean. And the families would be there too. It's hard to go once. Twice is worse. They'd fight. And he..." His mind already finished what he wanted to say; and he would be executed. He knew he just couldn't say it out loud. His cheeks slowly reddened and he looked at his feet.

"Executed." George finished for him, looking awfully sober and serious. They stopped talking, just looking at each other, slowly realizing how dangerous the situation was for Richard and George. And, somewhere in the back of their mind, they knew that if Richard and George were discovered... Paul and John would fall too. It was only a question of time.

"I should go and find him." The youngest said, frowning more and more. John couldn't believe it. This was the stupidest thing he ever heard! His eyes widened and he nervously laughed.

"You can't be serious. This would be suicide, George. Don't be daft, please." John was rarely begging, but he felt close to. George couldn't do that. If someone saw him, if someone found them... No. It would go very, very wrong. And John wasn't okay with that, certainly not.

Paul shook his head too, looking paler and paler. "John is right, George. It's too risky. We really can't let you do that." For a second, he looked like a mother trying to explain something to her child. It would have made John smile if they weren't all so serious. "We're working with the police, Geo. They're really serious about catching him. You can't risk it. And you know Richard is fine for now. He can hide very well."

George looked thorn in his own decision. John knew how hard it was for him. He couldn't blame him - and he would never try to blame him for anything. Finally, a sigh escaped his lips and George gave up. "Okay. I know you're right." His fingers softly running against his beard, he blinked a few times, probably refraining frustrates tears. "I'm sorry. It's just... hard. I miss him. And knowing he's in such a position..."

It was hard for everyone, John thought. And it was getting harder and harder. "It's alright, George. We understand." He said in his most gentle tone, the one he only used with Paul. He knew it was effective. And once again, he had the proof; George's face slowly lit up, just a little bit, but it was there.

"Yeah." His boyfriend nodded once more, big eyes shining in compassion. "We're here for you. But you have to stay here... Please. If it can make it easier for you, we'll try to learn everything we can. We'll ask our best about how everything is going... and we'll tell you. Okay?"

The smile on George's face is bright and relieved. "Okay. Ta. I'm really glad you stopped by. But I guess you should go. It wouldn't be good if they didn't know where you are... I don't want you to be suspected." He said while standing up, Anna and Elvis soon running around them.

Paul and John stood up too, hugging the man for a little bit too long, the kind of hug that said 'I know everything's not fine, but I'm here', hands softly clutching at their clothes. Nobody minded it anyway. They talked just a little bit more, George saying that yes, he was alright for now, that he didn't feel really bad those days, but it would go worse in a few weeks. Seeing Paul's sad face, George hugged him once more with a smile and forced them to go when he saw how hesitant they were.

Back in the car again, Paul drove, not quite able to push the frown away from his face. He was deeply worried, and he knew John was, too. They would be tensed and nervous for a long time, they both knew it. But life was like that.

Still, Paul wasn't really satisfied with that. He wished he could read minds, or at least know where Richard was and what he wanted to do. If he could at least be sure his hiding spot was really well hidden and safe... but they all knew that if Richard tried to contact them, it would be like handing himself to the police. And that wasn't their goal.

"Paul, don't think too much about it. Trust Richard with that, please?" John said, sounding tired. Paul knew that he wasn't tired because of him. The whole situation was exhausting. He, himself, felt it way too much for his own liking. "They're gonna be alright. And so are we."

Paul groaned, still focusing on the road - he didn't want to smash the car somewhere. "I know but... I really can't stop myself. So many possibilities and they're not good, Johnny. I just hope we're not taking a wrong path, you know." He revealed, almost whispering as if it was a secret. Even though no one could hear them when they were in their own car.

"I know, Paul, I know. But it won't help you to overthink them. Everything'll be fine." His fingers softly caressed Paul's hand in a reassuring gesture. It usually worked. This time, just a little bit.

"I hope." He stopped the discussion like that, choosing instead to stare at the road. John did the same. The forest was beautiful - always have been - but Paul found it a little bit threatening. He knew it was because of his thoughts. The leaves were bright green, the sun was lazily shining, someone was walking on the road - Paul had to avoid him but he didn't mind it, it helped him keep his attention on the road.

And, once again, they were back at their flat, tired, nervous. What tasted like victory a few days ago tasted bitter now. They both found it hard to keep their heads above water. But they didn't have a choice anyway, right? What was done was done. They just had to keep going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Please let me know!   
> I hope I'll publish the next one pretty soon. I'll try, at least. I'm working on a lot of different stuff right now. I have some Queen stuff written, I wondered if you wanted to read them??? Tell me too!  
> Hope you had a great day, week, month.... And if I don't publish anything before 2019.... then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year guys!!! I wish you all a lovely, full of love, year.  
> Thank you everyone for reading my fanfic. It really means the world!

**Author's Note:**

> And it's over! (for now)  
> The first chapter is already ready, I'm actually working on the second now.  
> I hope you liked it, anyways?  
> Don't hesitate to leave kudos and comments, they're here for that!  
> (don't be afraid, be weird if you want or just say anything that goes through your mind, I really don't mind ahah)  
> So, yeah, see ya soon, have a good day and everything!  
> (oh, and every chapters' title will be a song's lyric!! Hope you can find the original songs?)


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